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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482210">The Unresolved II</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Princes_and_Savages/pseuds/Of_Princes_and_Savages'>Of_Princes_and_Savages</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anti Hook, Anti Zelena, Archie is a therapist and people use him wisely, Captain Swan is never endgame, Dwarf Star - Freeform, Emotional Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Future Fic, Gold Family Feels, Healing, Henry x Violet because, Magic, Multi, Now for the better stuff:, Oh My God, Ruby Slipper, Second Chance Romance, Suicide Attempt, That's an official tag, The times are dark; Read angst, We dispose of Season 6 onwards, Will tag the chapters but:, lots of magic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:13:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Princes_and_Savages/pseuds/Of_Princes_and_Savages</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A recent threat to Storybrooke's long peace had been thwarted at a high personal cost to Rumpelstiltskin, and Belle is conflicted about the part she played in it. In fact she's conflicted about the part she's played in the last decade, when she chose to live apart from her husband and co-parent their son. Rumpelstiltskin has inner conflict of his own, but things take a turn towards tragic before either can find the answers they need.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. In Which A Mistake Is Made</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>To whomever if may concern: Thank you for putting up with my foolishness. To the newbies, there's some suicide attempting in this chapter but if you zip down to the end notes it's all explained there.</p><p>And if you aren't new: <strong>https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106355/chapters/43991455</strong> This is a link to an author's note you may have missed explaining the situation. I am pleased to say Friday updates are in the future, on the regular, barring, you know, any other checkmarks on my apocalypse bingo card. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As often as he could be accused of lies falling off the tip of his tongue, Rumpelstiltskin had always found them bitter things.</p><p>With that in mind, however, telling his very concerned-looking grandson that he planned to get out the house later today tasted almost like the truth. Sweet even.</p><p>Especially with the way the crease in Henry's brow smoothed out, and his lips curled up in a smile. His shoulders relaxed as he finished off his breakfast with more enthusiasm. He didn't remember to put his cereal bowl in the dishwasher, but then, he never did.</p><p>Dear Henry was a lad that, at the age of ten, found himself with much more sense than every adult around him. Even Rumple himself, the fact of which he was quite proud at times. Having the heart of the truest believer had given Henry the faith necessary to convince a world-weary Emma Swan about her place in Storybrooke, several times over in fact, but it came at a strange price for a child: Adult relatives leaning on him for stability.</p><p>It was very unfair to expect the boy to forever support others and never start his own life. Even calling him a <em>boy</em> was stretching it now, he would be twenty-three in August.</p><p>As for now, it was the fourth, miserably cold day of February. Winter itself was a miserably cold, stifling thing in Maine, there wouldn't be a hope of sunshine until April, if they were blessed. Henry took the Cadillac to drive in to the shop after making certain Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't need it, and the red tail lights soon vanished down the street.</p><p>He might come back for lunch, but was more likely to meet Violet, the girlfriend who was quite charming and clever, for a bite to eat in town. At Granny's of course. Henry was less dull than his maternal line and Storybrooke was not the monotonous land of unchanging time it once was, but everyone was prone to their own personal habits.</p><p>For example...</p><p>Every morning for the last few weeks since his physical, Rumpelstiltskin took a multivitamin. Every morning since, as well, he'd taken an ibuprofen for the pain in his mangled ankle that was infinitely worse in the cold. And every morning for the last three years, he'd taken a pill that was unfortunately large and quite unpleasant, but did it's job efficiently. Mostly. It had served to help balance out the feeling of wrongness at the edge of his mind that cut the legs out of whatever peace he built for himself throughout his life.</p><p>When he went to Dr. Hopper's door it had been something of a last-ditch effort to get his life in order, but the results had been worth the awkwardness and niggling shame in the beginning. At least it had been. He should have known that novel sense of confidence would get cut out from under him at the first push.</p><p>He was very tired of having to claw his way back up a cliff, rest on the edge, only to get kicked back over again. And again. And again.</p><p>This time he would embrace the fall.</p><hr/><p>Something was wrong.</p><p>She'd already checked her phone, but no one had called. Surely she would have heard if there was a town emergency. Oliver had been fine when she saw him off to school but his teachers would have told her if something happened. She was usually the one to check in on her father, but despite his sour attitude, he was currently in good health. She'd even gone upstairs to see if she left any appliances on, and checkered her calendar to make sure she wasn't forgetting an appointment.</p><p>Belle chewed on her lip, eyeing her silent phone. It was probably nothing. She'd been telling herself that for the last few days, whenever the intrusive thought reared its head and set her off balance. It was probably nothing. Probably.</p><p>Except...</p><p>Their son Oliver had gotten the highest marks in class on an assignment earlier in the week. He'd put more effort in to it than expected simply because it grabbed his interest, and his reward had been high praise from his teachers gushing over how advanced it was. Belle had been so proud she didn't even hesitate to call Rumple to tell him about it, to invite him to come to Granny's for dinner.</p><p>He had declined.</p><p>Admittedly things had not been...ideal between her and Rumple for a very long time. Raising a child together meant they couldn't just pretend the other didn't exist, not when Oliver spent the every weekend at his father's house, and a few more hours at the shop, barring unplanned complications. Like illnesses. Or misinformation.</p><p>Early last October, what started as a picture-perfect autumn afternoon had taken a turn after the children were let out of school. Robbi Mills had been dropped off at the library by her mother, which was odd. Garrick, Tink's sweet if somewhat unfiltered son, had asked if she'd like to go over to Granny's for a treat with the rest of them. Them being Oliver, and Leroy and Astrid's daughter, Opal, who's mistrust of Robbi was overruled by her want of a snack.</p><p>None of that seemed particularly important, now, but it meant everything in the end.</p><p>First, a green mist had filled the streets. The children had come out of the dinner then, with a grease-speckled paper sack. Belle and Astrid had already started flinging the doors open, the moment they looked outside, and Belle had called for Oliver to hurry inside when all hell broke loose.</p><p>When they appeared out of the mist.</p><p>Instead of corpses, the Black Cauldron had produced flickering green apparitions with a frighteningly solid touch, launching an attack on anything that moved. The library was one of the designated shelters on main street, heavily fortified with wards woven by Rumple and enforced by others to form a thick, protective bubble from magical harm, starting at the sidewalk. Everyone who had been outside taking advantage of the glorious weather started scrambling for cover as the wraiths appeared, and Belle had to fight against the incoming crowd to get outside where the children were.</p><p>She made it to the protected portion of the sidewalk when Oliver smacked in to her, Opal and Garrick hot on his heels. Belle was relieved, for a moment, before a high-pitched scream filled the air.</p><p>Just outside of the wards, not three feet away, Robbi Mills had been caught by her long blonde hair. The wraith threw her to the ground by the improvised rope, her head bouncing on the pavement. Sharp, glowing claws pinned one of her shoulders to the ground while the other bony hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed.</p><p>Belle shoved the three other children towards the door, where they were dragged inside to safety by good Samaritans. At the same time, Astrid managed a wave of energy that knocked the wraith aside, stunned. They grabbed Robbi and whisked her inside, noting immediately that she had blood oozing from a gash at the back of her head, from where the creature's claws had bit in to her shoulder, and most fortunately, she was still breathing even if she was unconscious.</p><p>The whole ordeal had only gone on for ten, fifteen minutes, but a great deal of damage had been done. It ended as quickly as it started, with apparitions disappearing and the green mists receding from where they'd come. Most people were too relieved to question it. There were a lot of people wounded in the attack, some with minor scratches and others even worse off than Robbi. Happy and Bashful had both gotten caught in it, the former had lost part of his right fingers where they'd been bitten off.</p><p>The next order of business for most was getting the wounded to the hospital. Which was ironically where the real trouble began.</p><p>(Zelena had not been in the library, but she had been outside it when they were trying to get Robbi to the hospital. That had been another overlooked clue.)</p><p>News spread quickly, a few hours later, that Rumple had been at the newly labelled crime scene: The center of the graveyard where the Black Cauldron had been set up. Killian and Emma had arrived on the scene, hauled him down to the cells beneath the hospital and slapped one of Pan's cuffs on his wrist. With only that information available on the first day, it seemed so cut and dry that Belle stormed down the basement.</p><p>There, she said some very angry, hurtful things. Most of which she didn't even really mean, they just came pouring out. And that still wasn't the worst thing she'd done.</p><p>Eventually, the Charmings let Rumple out under house arrest, even though the only evidence against him was that he'd been found, unconscious with his dagger, by the cauldron itself. If Belle had been thinking clearly, instead of just reacting, she would have questioned why Henry had been appointed to keep watch over Gold at his house when Henry had already been living there for a few weeks. But she didn't question it. She just decided to withhold Oliver, completely cut Rumple off without hesitation.</p><p>She tried taking comfort in what others told her: That she was acting with her child's best interests in mind, that Rumple had burned the town before, that she had every right to believe he was guilty because there was no proof of innocence. That one was from her father. Unfortunately, he'd had a point about lacking proof.</p><p>There was simply no evidence in Rumple's favor other than a few eyewitnesses that had seen him collecting the rent that day, far from the cemetery. But there was also no proof that he had done it, either, other than him being found lying by the cauldron.</p><p>Belle felt guilt start to prickle as she investigated the facts on her own time, when she wasn't researching the Black Cauldron's history at the request of the sheriff's office. Things didn't fit the more she added them together, so, she'd decided to be a bit underhanded in her questioning and went for the weakest link in the chain. And Snow spilled easily.</p><p>The living, malicious entity that was the Darkness had satisfied the parameters of a sacrifice to turn off the cauldron. Rumple was under "house arrest" with Henry because he'd lost all his powers, but only Snow, David, Emma, Killian, Regina, and Henry knew about it. And Dr. Whale. <em>Whale</em>. But not Belle.</p><p>They'd had kept her in the dark, in the angry and upset dark, researching an evil stockpot so everyone would think that Rumple was still the only suspect. Belle wanted to smack Snow over the head with the copy of <em>Catalogue of Demonic Vessels, Vol. II  </em>that she'd been clutching while the truth bled out in to the air around them.</p><p>She'd swallowed the urge down because she was sure they had good reason, though. They had to. And there was the possibility that Rumple was part of this scheme, and she shouldn't interfere if that was the case. So. She kept quiet about it. She spent half of those awful weeks in the dark, fuming and hurt and confused, and the other half trying to keep a secret when the whole town bought in to the lie. The whole time, Oliver was furious with her because he'd known his father couldn't have done this.</p><p>He'd known. Belle hadn't. Not until the damage was done.</p><p>In the middle of November, Zelena was caught trying to steal the Black Cauldron again, this time out of the evidence room where it had been stored. She'd been taken by surprise, with Emma and Regina and Maleficent all banded together to take her down. Once she was safely locked beneath the hospital again, she wailed out a full confession. About how she'd gotten the cauldron from another witch, how she just wanted to raise her daughter, how she wanted to get away from a town full of people that loathed her very existence, how Regina had no idea how hard it was to live in Storybrooke.</p><p>Because the finally clue was something Robbi mentioned when she got her voice back. She said her mother had been planning to take her on a trip before she'd gotten hurt. And Regina had ignored a lot of red flags over the years, but that was one she couldn't overlook. The whole time they'd framed Rumple as the villain, they'd been waiting on Zelena to make another move. At least Regina had.</p><p>The Charmings had washed their hands of the mess once Robbi was put in her aunt's custody. There was no apologies, not to the people of Storybrooke, not to Rumple, and certainly not to Belle.</p><p>Oliver was so mad he'd begged Belle to send him to advance him to the next grade. Because Snow taught the fourth grade. Only the reminder that he'd have to leave his two friends behind had calmed him, a bit, but it had taken him almost two weeks to forgive Belle for her part in the mess alone. He was still wary of Mrs. Nolan, he'd been sure her praise of his paper would come with some sort of catch.</p><p>Belle had been deeply grateful that she hadn't irreparably damaged things with her son, because his father...she had apologized to Rumple as soon as she could. But she'd already known it but it was too late for them.</p><p>Rumple accepted it with blank eyes and a stiff nod, but she knew that whatever threads of goodwill were left had been snapped between them. She hadn't trusted him, hadn't listened to her heart in time. Sending a horde of zombies in to the streets, senselessly attacking men, women, and children, had never been Rumpelstiltskin's style. It was sloppy, reckless, extreme: Perfect for Zelena though.</p><p>With this in mind, Belle had done everything in her power since to try keeping her distance from Rumple. Because if he felt anything like she did when she had a broken heart, he would need space. Which was why, originally, she thought he'd declined her offer. She had chided herself immediately for wanting to include herself, and offered to just send Oliver over that night with the promised hamburgers to celebrate.</p><p>And Rumple had still declined.</p><p>It had only been two days. Oliver hadn't seemed too upset with the lack of contact since he'd last seen Rumple on Monday morning. When he left for school after spending the weekend with his father. Two days wasn't an odd number, and declining her invitation wasn't odd, either.</p><p>But something still felt so wrong. And the lingering knowledge that Rumple had declined time with Oliver had her reaching for her phone. She decided to call Henry and consult with him, simply because if something were wrong, Henry would know. He did live with Rumple, he'd stayed at the house to help Rumple get back on his feet. Belle wasn't sure how long that might take, Oliver wouldn't tell her about his weekends anymore so she had no idea what was happening in the pink mansion.</p><p>But everything was probably fine. Probably.</p><p>
  <em>"Hello?"</em>
</p><p>"Hi Henry," Belle swallowed, her mouth dry. "I'm just calling to...check in on things, really. Um. Was everything alright with Rumple this morning?"</p><p>
  <em>"Well it was when I left the house...why?"</em>
</p><p>"No reason. Well. No real reason. No, that's not quite it..." she was glad to take this call at the cluttered desk in her tiny office instead of out at the circulation desk, because now she could pace freely and fidget, unobserved. And she did quite a bit of both. "You know Oliver got those high marks earlier this week? I asked Rumple if he wanted to come out to dinner to celebrate with us, and he declined. I figured he'd rather eat at home with Oliver, without me, that is, but he didn't want that either."</p><p>
  <em>"He turned it down?"</em>
</p><p>He turned <em>her</em> down. Unhelpful thinking. "He turned it down."</p><p>Henry was quiet. Not for long, but long enough. <em>"When did he turn it down? Monday?"</em></p><p>"Yes. I mean, I thought that he'd want to have Oliver over but...you see what I mean?" Belle brushed a stray curl behind her ear. She was glad she hadn't mentioned it to Oliver before she'd called Rumple, her son still cast those searching looks at her, she didn't want to give him more reason to distrust her.</p><p><em>"That's strange. He seemed pretty weird the past week, but I thought he was shaking out of his funk lately. He's been going to see Archie the last few weeks, I just-"</em> Henry stopped short. <em>"I think I'm gonna check up on him. I'll call you back soon."</em></p><p>Belle did not like the sound of that.</p><p>But it was probably nothing.</p><hr/><p>Rumpelstiltskin supposed it was his natural cowardice, but when he made the decision to end his life a few days beforehand, he'd immediately ruled out the most obvious methods. Hanging, slashing his wrists, a bullet to the head. Not that he could find find his gun, he suspected Henry had taken it out the house at some point for just this reason.</p><p>Honestly that should have been the first clue that suicide wasn't an ideal choice to make.</p><p>But he was so convinced it was the best thing he could do, that he'd decided to ignore his second thoughts and all the tools Dr. Hopper had given him for the hateful little voices in his head.</p><p>And it seemed like a fine idea to ignore the warning labels stamped all over the packaging and bottle of his medication, too.</p><p>But he'd gravely miscalculated the length of time it would take for an overdose to kick in. He'd felt ridiculous after swallowing more pills than he felt comfortable with, (perhaps another sign his heart wasn't in this endeavor,) and waiting at the dinner table for something to happen. The pill bottle had been full to the top because it was a refill. Dr. Hopper had talked about increasing his dosage at their last appointment, something about needing to counter the recent trauma.</p><p>He hadn't want to think about that too much while he was waiting.</p><p>As it stood, he sat there for a good thirty minutes, <em>waiting</em>, on something to happen. He sipped from the glass of water he'd needed to make the pills easier to take. He noticed the paper still laying on the table and decided to read it for a bit. He even choked down two or three more pills. And then he finally started to think.</p><p>As ever in his life, it was thinking that had given Rumpelstiltskin the unpleasant sensation of <em>wrong, wrong, wrong</em>.</p><p>He realized he hadn't actually read Oliver's paper. The one Snow White, of all people, had loved. He remembered his son asking him about his impression about the royals of the old worlds, but didn't actually know what the assignment entailed. And realized, in his recent depression, that he hadn't told Oliver that regardless of his lack of knowledge about the project, he was of course proud of his achievement. He'd be always be proud of his son's accomplishments, big and small.</p><p>And then he realized that Oliver was only nine years old, and was never going to know his father was so proud of him.</p><p>And then he realized that the last time he ever heard Belle's voice, his darling however distant wife's voice, was when it was laced with disappointment and unease. Like she thought he was declining because it was <em>her</em> idea to have a celebratory dinner. Sadly no. He was declining because he was an idiot who thought suicide was the kindest thing he could do for his family at the moment in a moment of weakness.</p><p>And <em>Henry</em> was going to find his <em>body</em>.</p><p>Whether it was the panicky sense of regret settling, or the surplus of medication he'd taken finally kicking in, Rumpelstiltskin felt a wave of nausea hit him. His heart raced. His hands began to shake, a chill running up his spine. For a solid minute he told himself then that it was too late, there was a visible dent in the supply of pills. He'd made his bed and he had to lie in it now.</p><p>Then the front door opened and his heart was fit to burst out his chest in relieved horror.</p><p>"GOLD!"</p><p>Henry hollered from the front door, skidding around to the kitchen. "Gold! What-"</p><p>He stopped short, gawking at the open bottle of pills and the glass of water. Then he looked to Rumpelstiltskin. Then back at the bottle. Words failed him as well, but his fingers tapped nervously on the tabletop, sweat beading along his hairline. Then he uttered the words he'd never allowed himself to say until he was attempting an apology later on. Usually too much later on.</p><p>"I made a mistake..."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings include: Rumple attempting to figure out the best way to end himself, taking antidepressants with intention to overdose, immediately regretting overdose, and Henry bursting in.</p><p>Additional author's notes: I won't be taking down the originals anytime soon so if you want to save those for posterity please feel free to! I do want to thank everybody who hasn't forgotten about this story, I wouldn't have bothered with revising it hadn't been so well-received. I have the whole thing mapped out going off the bones of the original, so the only thing I have to do really is write it. And I have the time for that, so, it's happening!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. In Which Cages Are Rattled</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome back! For those of you who no longer have a concept of time, it is Friday! For those of you who just want to get down to business, here are your emergency tissues and promises that things do get better!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oliver Gold was nine years old.</p><p>He liked ketchup a bit more than most people deemed natural. For example, on ham sandwiches, ones made without cheese. His favorite color was yellow because it was nice to look at. But most of his clothes seemed to be blue, and he wasn't sure how that happened. He loved to know things, and he hated <em>not</em> knowing things.</p><p>Like why Mrs. Gosling looked at him a second too long, before she had beckoned for Mrs. Nolan to leave the room during their math test.</p><p>When he had finished, Oliver tried to think of what he'd possibly done that the principal's secretary would be looking at him. Maybe it had something to do with Mrs. Nolan. That wouldn't have been too surprising, then. She had never been his favorite teacher, for a few reasons, but especially since she and all the Charmings, the self-appointed heroes in town that made up Henry's other family, had decided to leave Papa hanging in the breeze for the Black Cauldron.</p><p>Oliver wasn't sure how much Mrs. Nolan knew that <em>he</em> knew. And he knew enough that he wasn't willing to forget about it. They'd planned to use Papa to set up a trap. While he was recovering at home they pretended to have him under house arrest, so the real criminal would think they'd gotten away with it and make their next move. That was smart enough, and Papa had consented to it, but Mama hadn't known about it. She'd been mad at Papa before, but never so mad she'd felt Oliver needed to be kept away.</p><p>But Oliver could forgive her for that, <em>mostly</em>, because the Charmings hadn't bothered to tell her about their plan. To make it look more convincing. Mama had to figure it out on her own and was the first to apologize for treating Papa that way, but Henry had to strong-arm the rest of his family in to declaring Papa's innocence.</p><p>Henry had grumbled that they'd thought it would be obvious Papa was innocent after Zelena was captured. They probably hadn't considered how it would happen to a supposedly guilty man with an already stained reputation to look to the townsfolk, or what would happen to his son.</p><p>Everyone discreetly looked the other way when other children picked on him, when teachers singled him out as a problem even if he wasn't doing anything. Principal Hornsby was a fair man and things were just starting to settle, but Oliver had never been viewed as a good student, just a smart one. Mrs. Nolan was always telling Mama that Oliver was just acting out because he wasn't being challenged with the current curriculum, so why not move him up a year?</p><p>Oliver <em>was</em> smart, but he wasn't a super-genius. And he also wasn't about to jump in to a classroom of strangers and leave his best friends behind, no matter how tempting it would be to get away from two Nolans at once. With all this in mind, though, Oliver was very shocked he'd gotten the best grade on that paper Monday.</p><p>The assignment had been geared towards familiarizing fourth graders with the old world's style of society, because of Storybrooke's nature, it was important everyone knew how society in the other realms worked in case they were dumped there during an unplanned curse. (It had happened before.) To ease in to it, they'd started with the most obvious difference of all, that the Enchanted Forest was run by kings, queens, and other nobility.</p><p>By the time he turned his paper in, Oliver felt he'd gotten the context wrong, but there wasn't time to change it. A lot of kids had just gone off the material they'd been learning already, and some of them had parents were royals with first-hand information. Oliver had gone around to non-royals and asked how a monarchy worked out for them based on something his father had said once: Ask the farmers how the fields are worked, not the landowner.</p><p>So he figured that meant normal, uncrowned people. People like Granny, and Ruby, Marco, Archie, Violet even. So his paper was kind of...critical of the system. But birthright really was the least effective way to choose a leader. The whole thing collapsed in to warfare the minute there was a break in the inheritance chain. Or the dowager Queen could, say, go on a highly destructive quest for revenge that ended in a realm-jumping curse.</p><p>More surprising than a passing grade, was that Mrs. Nolan had gushed about how mature it was. To the class. To the other teachers, apparently. Oliver had begged Mama not to let her, but she'd even threatened, (which is to say <em>suggested </em>but it felt like a threat to a boy who hated being made the center of attention,) they share it at the Heritage Day Festival in March. </p><p>It was almost funny because things went back to normal the next day. Mrs. Nolan held Oliver in during recess because she decided he was the inciting party in a lunchroom argument, because the only part she was apparently present for was when Oliver was "acting out" again. When he'd called Neal a <em>golden-haired, illiterate mama's boy.</em></p><p>Admittedly it was a bit of a low-blow. The illiterate part at least. Neal Nolan struggled with dyslexia, he'd had to repeat kindergarten just because his brain didn't process writing normally. Of course, any sympathy that Oliver might've had for Neal was immediately quashed by Neal himself. Obviously his mommy missed it, but Neal had called him an <em>unwanted mistake</em>, first, which prompted the mama's boy comment.</p><p>And then, Opal had lobbed a tangerine at his head. It had missed, but he appreciated the protective gesture.</p><p>"What do you think's going on?" She sat in front of Oliver, and at the moment was twisted around in her chair, trying to make out silhouettes in the frosted glass door.</p><p>Opal was his first best friend. Both their moms worked at the library, both of Opal's parents were people Mama called her friends and actually acted the part. Leroy didn't even mind that Oliver's father was the Dark One, or that Mama had married him, which was stunning because he was very...opinionated about things. Kind of like Opal.</p><p>"Shush!" Neal hissed from his desk further down. "You can't talk while we're taking a test!"</p><p>"You <em>shush</em>." Opal didn't even bother looking at him, keeping focused on the shadows falling across the door. "I'm finished already."</p><p>Neal scowled down at his paper and scribbled something furiously, ears burning red. He wasn't stupid. Oliver knew that. He was just, for lack of a better term, a giant dick-weasel.</p><p>Mama used to baby sit him, until she couldn't take him anymore. Sometimes he just said some nasty things, sometimes he did mean things, mostly to Oliver for reasons he was never sure of. Proof that Neal wasn't stupid was how he always knew <em>exactly</em> when he could get away with something, and how far he could push a limit without getting in trouble himself.</p><p>He always got more creative after a perceived slight, and this week he felt very slighted. Because while Oliver had gotten top marks and praise...Neal had not.</p><p>Oliver knew this because the blonde boy had gotten very squirmy in his desk, while Mrs. Nolan was going on and on about his stupid assignment. Neal's ears had turned red, too, a sign her was embarrassed. Which made Oliver wonder if this had been one of those times when Neal failed to actually complete his writing assignment, it happened sometimes. Instead of working to better himself of course, Neal and his friends just put all their efforts in to making Oliver miserable.</p><p>So yesterday, Oliver had gotten shoved in the rush to get to class, shoved again in the coatroom, and even his chair had been shoved when Phil Briars got up to sharpen his pencil. Someone had thrown his jacket to the floor in the coatroom and stolen his scarf when they were collecting their stuff to go to lunch. Only Oliver didn't know about the scarf until he got up to throw something away and spotted his bright yellow scarf stained with tapioca pudding and what appeared to be a full carton of chocolate milk, spilled with precise care.</p><p>That was what caused the lunchroom argument, so, in a very biased way, yes. Oliver <em>had</em> started it. Because the other boys had intentionally ruined his favorite scarf.</p><p>Not that this mattered to Mrs. Nolan. She was one of those "I don't care who started it" people, she went after the one causing the most trouble at present. Which considering what she'd managed to hear, and see, was Oliver. And Opal, and a tangerine.</p><p>"Maybe it's a half day?" Garrick suggested. Oliver's other friend was a scrawny kid, but taller than both he and Opal, with short blonde hair, a mess of freckles, and expressive green eyes. Right now they were bright with curiosity. "Or maybe Ruth's sick, or maybe there's a town emergency?"</p><p>"Like what?" Opal asked. "Portals? Witches? Maybe it's a sea monster, we've never had one of those, have we?"</p><p>"Storybrooke is too cold for sea monsters, I think," Oliver said. Papa had a lot of books in his home library, some of them from the Enchanted Forest. One was a bestiary, he'd begged Papa to read that one to him like a bedtime story when he was little because he loved the pictures in it. The squiggly handwritten cursive was a little hard to read, but he still liked the book. "Most of them at least. They like tropic-OW!"</p><p>A large pink eraser bounced hard off the side of Oliver's head, just above his ear. It was a slow, spreading kind of pain that had him rubbing the ache as he turned to see who had thrown it. A bewildered-looking Jenny Bremen wasn't the culprit, but she was all that sat between Oliver and a smirking Tommy Herman. The <em>other</em> blonde menace.</p><p>Tommy was different than Neal, but kind of the same. He liked to mess with people, to act like a jerk, or dick-weasel, and he knew just how much he could get away with and against who. He and Neal both knew they could probably get away with anything if they did it to Oliver because the deck was already stacked against him. And they were right. Mrs. Nolan would fixate on the part where Oliver's friends were talking in class, and, <em>technically</em>, they shouldn't have been. But Tommy shouldn't be throwing things either, not that it mattered anyway.</p><p>And not in the way Oliver had expected.</p><p>Their teacher stepped back inside just when Opal looked ready to hop out her chair. She dropped back down in her seat and muttered something that was probably a string of curse words. She had been the one to come up with "dick-weasel", which suited nicely on some people. Such as the unbearably smug Neal and Tommy.</p><p>Oliver glowered at them, silently hoping  Neal mixed up all his sixes for fives. Only then their expressions turned to confusion, which Oliver found himself mirroring. Because Mrs. Nolan had made her way directly to <em>his</em> desk. On no. What did she think he'd done now?</p><p>"Oliver," Mrs. Nolan said, instead, looking strangely concerned. "Your mother's here."</p>
<hr/><p>Rumple was in the hospital after an overdose of antidepressants.</p><p>Belle hadn't been aware he was taking them, but then, she wasn't sure how it would have come up in conversation. And perhaps she was entering denial, but her immediate thought was that it was a misunderstanding on her end. Rumple must have just mixed up the dosage, or forgotten he'd already taken his medication and taken another dose. Surely it wasn't <em>intentional</em>.</p><p>But in her heart Belle knew something had gone very, very wrong. That was why Henry had informed her from the emergency waiting room about it. And this led her to call the school.</p><p>Rumple was not a well-loved figure, but he was a big name in Storybrooke. Word was going to spread, one way or another, and she would rather her son hear about it in the safety of his own home rather than discussed in the rumor mill. Even in an elementary school. Belle had spoken to Mrs. Gosling, the principal's secretary, on the phone.</p><p>The older woman had been very understand and said if they needed more time, she would make arrangements, all Belle had to do was let her know. But it was Snow that Belle met at the school door, though. Which made sense, in a way. She was Oliver's teacher, after all. And all things considered, Belle did think of her as a friend of sorts.</p><p>But when she asked what happened, Belle found herself hesitating to answer. "I...don't know what happened, yet," which was not a lie. "But Rumple's in the hospital."</p><p>"Oh. Oh no! Is he sick? Was he in an accident?"</p><p>Belle wasn't sure what part of <em>don't know</em>  Snow didn't grasp. "I'm not sure yet. I just, um, I don't want Oliver to hear it from someone else. You know how people get about Rumple. And he's going to be so upset, I just...I don't think he needs to be here right now."</p><p>"Right." Snow kept pace with Belle down the hall, until they were standing outside the classroom door. "Right, of course. Well, Mrs. Gosling told me he was in the hospital, and to prepare any assignments for the rest of the week in case Oliver won't come to class, if it's that bad. Is anyone with him?"</p><p><em>Him</em>, it took Belle a moment to recognize, was Gold. "Henry's there, yes. He'll let me know if we should come down there, or wait, or...whatever we need to do."</p><p>"Alright, good. Good. I left the kids doing a math test, but I'll send Oliver out right away."</p><p>Belle nodded, trying to rehearse again what she was going to tell her son. She'd thought that a birds-and-the-bees style talk was going to be the most difficult conversation she'd ever have with her son, and even then, she could have left most of the awkwardness up to his father.</p><p>That was not an option here.</p><p>After a minute, Oliver stepped out into the hall. He wiggled in to his coat with his backpack in hand, and a questioning look on his face. As he grew older, his soft facial features grew sharper, especially his nose, and his hair was a sandy shade of brown that flopped over his high forehead. He had a pale complexion like Belle did, one that burned instead of browned under the sun, and an understandably short stature. He also had a unique habit of messing with his sleeves when he was nervous. Like now, as he fiddled with the cuffs of his dark coat.</p><p>"Is everything okay?" he asked slowly, searching her face with blue eyes.</p><p>Belle took a deep breath in, putting her hand on his shoulder to steer him down the hall and away from the classroom. "I...well...Henry's with your father at the hospital-"</p><p>"What happened?" Oliver's eyes widened.</p><p>"I'm not sure-"</p><p>"What do you mean? What happened? Did he fall, is he sick? Did someone hurt him? Is he-"</p><p>"He, um, he's sick, yes," Belle agreed, because that also <em>wasn't</em>  a lie. "We're not going to the hospital until Henry tells us more though, okay? Let's just get home, then we'll talk. Okay?"</p><p>Oliver nodded slowly, staring ahead of him, down the hall towards the doors leading outside. "And he's at the hospital? H-He's gonna be okay?</p><p>"Yes." It would kill her to believe anything differently, even for a moment.</p><p>Her hand found Oliver's and he squeezed back, as they left the school and a cold swirl of winter wind cut through their coats. The walk home wasn't long, but it was uncomfortable with the knowledge that across town, Rumple was in the hospital from something he'd done intentionally, weighed heavily on Belle's chest. Her son didn't say a word, probably too busy fretting over all the things that "he's sick" could mean.</p><p>When they finally arrived at the library, Belle stalled a moment more, digging in her coat pockets for the keys. But Oliver had decided that was long enough to wait for answers. He looked from the door to her, and squared his thin shoulders. "So...what happened?"</p><p>Belle steeled her nerves. It was difficult to keep her hands steady as she unlocked the door. "Well...um...Henry went home to check on him-"</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Because...of a bad feeling that I had. Um. I called Henry and he thought your father needed checking up on, so he went home-"</p><p>"Why'd you have a bad feeling? What did you think happened?" There was an undercurrent of 'what did you do?' in there that stung. Not without reason, but still, it stung.</p><p>"I <em>didn't</em>  know. That's why I called Henry. And he went home and found your father had, um, he uh, he...had taken...the wrong amount of his medication." These not-lies were going to kill Belle, she could feel it. She'd choke to death on them.</p><p>And she wasn't sure what it said about her son, if he was more perceptive or simply less polite than Snow, but the way he narrowed his eyes indicated he wasn't going to let her be vague for much longer. And that was not something Belle wanted to talk about outside, so she ushered him through the open door quickly. Deep in to the library, where she could drop graceless down in to a chair out of view from the world.</p><p>"Which medication?"</p><p>And this was the time for unflinching truth. She took a deep breath, reaching for Oliver's hands to hold, forced herself to meet his eyes. She couldn't not-lie to him. It wouldn't be fair, and if he found out from anyone else, he was never going to forgive her.</p><p>"The one for anxiety and depression. Do you know that one?" Oliver nodded, and Belle took another steadying breath. "Alright. Well...he took too many of those-"</p><p>"He only takes one-"</p><p>"He didn't today. And-"</p><p>"Why would Papa do that? The bottle has the dosage printed on it."</p><p>Of course Oliver had read all the warning labels. Her son didn't give a damn about nutritional values at the age of five but he'd still read that label on the side of the cereal box. Belle found her third deep breath stuck in her throat, releasing with a shuddery sound too soft to be a proper sob.</p><p>"Henry took him to the hospital, as soon as he got home-"</p><p>"But-"</p><p>"-<em>and</em> Henry said he was alert, and not very happy he'd done it, and that the doctors said it was still early enough that they could-"</p><p>"Mama." Oliver shook his head slowly, not looking away from her. "I don't understand. He's not supposed to take...I mean why...did he do it on purpose? Why? Why would he do that on purpose?"</p><p>Belle swallowed. "I don't know, baby, I don't know-"</p><p>"You say that everything happens for a reason, so why would he do that?" He demanded, trying to pull away. Belle wouldn't let him though. "I don't-He's supposed to be getting better. That's what he said. He's getting <em>better</em>. Why did he lie?"</p><p>Better in this case had referred to the weakness Rumple had suffered after his curse was ripped away. He'd had to build back a lot of his physical strength, and get used to the handicap of walking on his mangled foot. And he'd done that sufficiently in the last few months, but Henry and Oliver had both remarked that Rumple still seemed to tire easily.</p><p>"I-" she stopped short of saying she didn't know again. "I don't understand it. And neither does Henry, and I don't think Rumple understands it, either."</p><p>Oliver gave her a look like she'd just said something utterly inane. It was a look she'd seen Rumple give David so often, Belle could have cried at the reminder alone. "You just said he did it <em>on purpose</em>. Papa's too smart to do stuff without a reason, everybody knows that. Why would he want to die?"</p><p>Belle tugged him forward by the hands until he stiffly walked in to her arms. She buried her face in the shoulder of his coat, blinking back tears and combing her fingers across his hair like when he was very small and very upset.</p><p>"Your father is the smartest man I know, but Oliver, sweetheart, he's still an adult. And we do insensible things thinking they're perfectly sensible, all of the time." She sniffled. "I don't know why he's done this, and I don't know what will come next. But this has happened now, and we just have to...figure out what to do about it."</p><p>They stood still for what could have been seconds, minutes, or hours. Long enough that Belle shivered when Oliver, in a very thin and quiet voice, almost afraid to be heard, asked,"Is he going to die?</p><p>"I hope not."</p><p>Oliver wriggled back so he could look her in the eye. Despite how frail his voice had been a moment ago, his face was a blank expression. That, too, she'd seen on Rumple quite often. It was frightening to think how she'd never noticed until now that Oliver had mastered his father's mask, the one Mr. Gold had used to keep the world at a safe distance.</p><p>"Do you?" Even his voice was blank, two flat syllables void of hope or accusation.</p><p>"I do," she said firmly, cupping his cheek in her hand so he had to keep looking at her. "I know you might not believe it. But for as long as I've known your father, through all of our ups and downs, I've never wanted him anything but alive. When he banished me, when I banished him, even when I thought he'd sold you to the god of the dead, not even with everything we-<em>I</em>,-did after the Black Cauldron. I've never wished the worst for him, not once."</p><p>Oliver's brow crinkled. "Never?"</p><p>"Never. I might not be able to live with your father, but I don't hate him, either."</p><p>And if she couldn't hate a man for thinking they'd sold her baby, what could she hate him for?</p><p>Granted, she knew now it was a bit more complicated, that contract Hades had gleefully lorded over Rumple's head. That her husband had thought the deal had been neatly voided with a bit of murder, his short-sighted former solution for most problems, and that's why it had never come up. That Bae's life had hung in the balance when the deal was struck centuries ago. That he'd had no reason to expect a chance to have more children except for a brief moment in his brief affair with Cora. That was all a bit too complex to explain easily.</p><p>Maybe Oliver could just read about it, when he was older. Henry had threatened numerous times to devote an entire book to Rumpelstiltskin's shenanigans alone as he tried to sort facts from fictions.</p><p>"So...do we go to the hospital now?"</p><p>"Not yet." Belle knew she was going to have to convince her son about her plan, otherwise he would sneak off to the hospital the minute her back was turned. "Henry's waiting down there, and he's going to call when he knows what the doctors have planned next. He'll stay overnight, at the very least, so Henry's going to have to learn what room he's staying in and for how long. I think it might be better just to wait here, for now, until we know what we can do."</p><p>She saw the hesitation there. The reluctance. Oliver had said he'd forgiven her for keeping him from his father, because at first she'd been ignorant and then she'd thought she was helping. That was how he'd seen it. She wasn't sure if he'd wholly forgiven the betrayal though.</p><p>"Do you think we can visit him? Tomorrow?" Oliver asked carefully.</p><p>"I think that's much more likely than visiting him today. It might even be the best option."</p><p>"Okay. I'll wait then. If we can go tomorrow."</p><p>Belle kissed his forehead. "I'll let you know what Henry says, and we'll make a plan in the morning. Promise."</p>
<hr/><p>Doc had heard from one of the nurses on the floor of the pediatric department in Storybrooke General Hospital that Mr. Gold had been admitted to the hospital. He'd taken a moment to dash off a quick text to Leroy, asking if he'd heard from Belle lately.</p><p>Leroy had not. He was coming home for lunch when he got the message and asked Astrid about it when he came inside. It was her day off from the library, she'd been at home all morning with the twins, and she hadn't heard anything about anything at all.</p><p>However, because Belle was their friend, and their daughter was her son's best friend, they both felt that a quick check-in was appropriate. And since Astrid was more...sensitive, than Leroy could be, she threw on her coat and hurried over to the library. She found the door locked and the sign flipped to closed, so she checked her pockets for her phone. Sometimes she forgot the darned thing at home, but today she was pleased to find she had not.</p><p><strong>Hi! I'm downstairs at the door, I came to see if you needed anything.</strong> Astrid frowned at her first attempted message. It occurred to her she could have called ahead, but only just now. She edited it to read,<strong> Hi! I heard what happened. Do you need anything right now? </strong>and also,<strong> Do you want me to run the library?</strong></p><p>She sent it off and waited, rocking back and forth on her heels there on the sidewalk. She may have remembered her phone, but she found she had forgotten her keychain. Oh dear, that could be a problem in opening the library. Luckily for her, it didn't matter too much because after a minute or two, she got a response.</p><p>
  <strong>Maybe tomorrow? I don't know what I'll be doing yet.</strong>
</p><p>That seemed reasonable, but then there came a second message behind it:</p><p>
  <strong>How do you know what happened?</strong>
</p><p><strong>Doc told Leroy, who told me when he came home for lunch.</strong> It was true that news travelled quickly in Storybrooke, but it travelled fastest by dwarf. Leroy may not be the most malicious gossip in town, (he certainly didn't want to be once people started trying to divide everything about their children in to petty little boxes to decided "what" they were,) but him and all his brothers were very nosy and told each other everything they'd heard. Dopey was non-verbal, but just as bad as any of them.</p><p><strong>Of course.</strong> Astrid could almost hear Belle sigh. <strong>Thank you though. I'll let you know.</strong></p><p>Now it was Astrid's turn to sigh. Belle was endlessly helpful, but awful at asking for help herself. That didn't matter to Astrid though, she'd figure out how to help her friend though this mess, even if it was just keeping the library in order while she dealt with it. If she was willing, of course, she wouldn't have to go through it all alone.</p><p>
  <strong>Whatever you need, just let me know.</strong>
</p><p>Not that this guaranteed she would. Astrid wondered how sneaky and underhanded it would be to suggest Archie come talk to Belle. She did have his personal phone number, Tink had given it to her in case something happened to Garrick and no one could reach her, or Gepetto. Hmm...</p><p>
  <strong>I will. Thank you.</strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you have any questions of comments, obviously ask away in the comment section below! Or you could drop by my messy little hovel on Tumblr and do so there! <strong>https://of-princes-and-savages.tumblr.com/</strong></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. In Which There Is Speculation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As proof of how pointless my day is going to be, my mother just told me to move everything from one kitchen cabinet to the other, and vice-versa. Because it is suddenly imperative we move the spices to another place. My mother does not quarantine well.</p><p>Have an update a day early, and may your day be more engaging than mine!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Grabbing his phone charger had slipped Henry's mind while waiting on the ambulance with his grandfather starting to panic.</p><p>That had to mean something, didn't it? That when faced with the reality he'd consumed a bunch of antidepressants his intentions evaporated in a cloud of panic? It had to count for something at the very least. Not that he'd been the only one panicking.</p><p>Henry had his own problems thinking clearly when he found his grandfather, a not-so-full bottle of antidepressants, and a glass of water all neatly arranged at the same table he'd eaten breakfast at earlier that same morning. He'd shoved Gold in the Caddy as quick as possible, and broke every posted speed limit to whip in to the emergency room parking even faster.</p><p>The fifteen minute drive from the salmon pink house on the edge of town had been cut in half at the very most, which added to the half hour Henry had been away meant it was under an hour from the time Gold ingested the pills, which the nurse they'd had to explain the situation to seemed to think was a very positive thing. Then someone came with a wheelchair to roll Gold in to the bowels of the ICU to get his stomach pumped.</p><p>Henry had been sitting in the waiting room since then. He had Gold's cane, and moonstone ring, with him. A nurse came by to say his grandfather would be moved to a room soon, and she'd come for Henry when they moved him in.</p><p>Henry texted that information to Belle, and then he dashed off a text to Violet before he shut down though. He promised to call her and asked her not to worry about him, (yet,) and sent a string of affectionate emojis. She responded with similar characters and a capitalized <strong>CALL ME LATER THEN!!</strong> that made him smile.</p><p>However, he noticed playing Wordscapes was starting to eat up his phone battery, and he wasn't sure how much longer he was going to be here. Outside of his phone, there were only two choices to pass the time in the ER waiting room. A soap opera with subtitles on a mute TV, or a collection of magazines neatly stacked on one table. Well. It was those two, or staring in to space.</p><p>Henry picked up a magazine on top of the stack.</p><p>It had a cheesecake on the cover and the tag <em>10 Unique Desserts To Spice Up The Holidays</em> It placed number three on the list, a "eggnog cheesecake with gingersnap crust", which actually didn't sound terrible. Unlike whatever the "spiced pecan apple-pumpkin cobbler" was. That looked a bit like cat puke covered with pie crust.</p><p>The cooking magazine had secured Henry's attention with dubious recipes long enough that when the waiting room door opened, it startled him. He looked up to find his adoptive mother sweeping in, as if ready to declare war, which was only slightly less startling.</p><p>Regina Mills, former Evil Queen and present Mayor of Storybrooke, was never anything short of regal, between her bearing and the snappy style of her darkly colored wardrobe. Her hair was still quite dark, but fine lines had appeared on her face that Henry didn't remember being there as a child. The lines were deeper now, with the way her mouth was pressed in a tense frown, and her heels clacked briskly on the tiles as she crossed the room.</p><p>"What happened? Are you alright?"</p><p>"He, um...I'm alright. He...will be, I guess." Henry bounced his leg nervously. "What are you doing here?"</p><p>The primary reason Henry had moved in with Gold was because he'd had a falling out with his mothers a few weeks before the Black Cauldron hit. Over separate but similar issues. Afterwards, he'd stayed on to keep an eye on his grandfather, who was at first kind of weak and had to reacquaint himself with his bad ankle, and then because obviously...well, obviously he was <em>not</em> okay.</p><p>Which wasn't to say that Henry was unhappy to see Regina. Maybe it was because their quarrel turned out to be prophetic, maybe it was because she admitted he was right about Robbi's living situation. Maybe it was because she actually asked after Gold when she called Henry these days. But he was just a bit glad to see Regina, so he could explain it face to face. Maybe he would feel different if it were Emma, though.</p><p>Emma hadn't so much apologized about it, later, as she'd admitted she felt guilty for driving him away. There was a difference. Henry wanted the apology more, but he had to take what he could for Emma and his sister's sake.</p><p>Regina sat down in one of unbelievably uncomfortable waiting room chairs beside Henry, and glared up at the speckled ceiling tiles every hospital seemed to have.</p><p>"It's Gold. He's supposed to be the most powerful Dark One to ever live. He's supposed to annoy me in to an early grave because he knows I hate his mind games not...he's not supposed to be mortal. I was..." she made a face, "<em>worried</em>, about the bastard."</p><p>"That's...honest." Henry stopped his bouncing. "Thanks."</p><p>Regina gave him a small smile. "Don't thank me yet. I still want to know what happened."</p><p>It had been about two hours since they'd checked in. You'd think it would take longer for people to start talking.</p><p>Henry let his head fall back to glare up at the same dumb ceiling tiles. "He...takes some medication, for like anxiety and depression. Archie wanted him to try a different dosage and ordered a refill, and...and he took, like, a lot, after I left for work."</p><p>He didn't have to see his adoptive mother's face to imagine her expression then. Raised eyebrows and slightly agape mouth. Shock. It was quite shocking after all.</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"I don't...I thought he was just having a rough spell and he was coming out of it the last few days. I wouldn't have thought any different if Belle hadn't called me to say he wouldn't have Oliver over for dinner. And that's unusual, so I went home when he wouldn't answer his phone-I think he left it upstairs, I'll have to go home and get it I guess,-and...here we are."</p><p>"And Belle knows?"</p><p>"She knows." Henry's leg started to jiggle of its own free will at some point. "He was okay when I got there, it hadn't been long. I think he started having second thoughts as soon as he did it, but still. He did it."</p><p>Regina was quiet for a long moment. Some lady on the soap opera started crying over something a guy said, but Henry wasn't paying enough attention to the subtitles to know what he'd said.</p><p>"Do you want me to stay with you for awhile?" Regina offered. "I don't have to be anywhere until Robbi's out of school."</p><p>"Nah. I'm alright." And it was true, enough.</p><p>"If you're sure, I suppose I could go grocery shopping while I wait." She stood up and folded her arms, like she expected a protest. "You're getting a lasagna, when he comes home."</p><p>"Like I'm going to turn you down?" Henry smiled, genuinely. It was...unexpected, but nice, that some of his family were thinking of him. <em>And</em> Gold.</p><p>Regina rolled her eyes, but with the tiniest smile of her own. "Let me know if you need anything. And I do mean anything. A grocery trip if you're too busy, someone to talk to, someone to stop your other grandparents from talking to you, wards, curses-"</p><p>"Curses?"</p><p>"<em>Anything</em>. Just let me know." Regina nodded firmly, leaving the waiting room standing as straight as when she'd swept in. Henry made a note to keep her updated, at least. Sometimes he forgot she and Gold were frenemies.</p>
<hr/><p>Nobody knew what happened to Oliver after lunch.</p><p>Opal didn't hesitate to go up to Mrs. Nolan and ask about it. Their teacher's mouth dropped open and her eyes got shifty, but she said that it was a private, family matter. Garrick agreed with Opal: That meant Mrs. Nolan knew but she wasn't going to tell two nine-year-olds about it. Darn it.</p><p>"I don't like it," Opal grumbled. "It was Miss Belle that picked him up. What do you think that means?"</p><p>"Maybe he had a dentist appointment?" Garrick suggested.</p><p>"Mrs. Nolan would've said so, that's not a 'private family matter'." Opal tugged her knit hat off to start smoothing her ruffled brown hair on the walk back to class. "Maybe something happened to her dad, or Henry, or maybe even Mr. Gold."</p><p>A quiet voice behind them asked: "What could happen to Mr. Gold?"</p><p>Robbi Mills had appeared out of nowhere, as she accidentally did because she even walked quietly. She was really good at accidentally scaring the pants off people by accidentally sneaking up on them. Her winter coat was a puffy one with a thick trim of fake, pale brown fur around the hood and ends of her sleeves, and when she pushed the hood back it made all her curly, dark gold hair stand up every which way.</p><p>"Nothing," Opal said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. She didn't so much not-like Robbi as she didn't trust her, Garrick thought, especially since he'd started talking to her.</p><p>He always felt Robbi wasn't a bad sort. She said Neal Nolan was her best friend, but that was only because she'd known him since they were babies. Like Oliver and Opal. (You couldn't tell Opal that though, she said it was different.) And Neal was the only kid Robbi's mom would let her go visit, and the only birthday party she was invited to. Since she'd started living with her aunt, and talking to Archie, Robbi had a little bit different. Less anxious, a little less quiet. It was easier for her to meet eyes and she could actually visit places in town.</p><p>Well before this, Garrick had decided Robbi needed more friends. Neal had ignored how she'd all but ran off the playground last spring. Garrick found out, when he also found her crying in the coatroom, that Robbi's pet mouse had died. She didn't want to talk too much about it, so Garrick gave some of his tissues and promise to leave her be, but also that it would hurt less someday. That's how it had been when Pongo died, Archie had only just adopted Figaro after three years because his heart wasn't broken anymore.</p><p>Oliver hadn't said much, but he didn't mind Robbi much. He was wary of her because nobody really knew Robbi Mills despite sharing the same class since kindergarten, but he wasn't nearly as standoffish as Opal was about it.</p><p>Maybe it was because Robbi's mom had used the Black Cauldron, which had hurt two of Opal's uncles. But Opal didn't hold grudges like that, she held personal ones, for herself and out of loyalty to her friends and family. That's why she didn't like Neal. Garrick just really wasn't sure what Robbi had done to Opal, personally, though.</p><p>"What happened to Oliver?" Robbi asked a second question, proving she was a bit braver than she was, as they entered the classroom.</p><p>"We don't know really," Garrick shrugged out of his own coat, but there was at least four kids crammed in to the coatroom ahead of him so he draped it over his arm to wait in line. "Mrs. Nolan wouldn't say."</p><p>Robbi rocked back and forth on her heels, peeling her gloves off. Then she tried smoothed her hair down, a bit less successfully than Opal on account of it being a staticky mess of curls. "I could ask my aunt."</p><p>"Why?" Opal frowned. "What would Mayor Mills know?"</p><p>"Aunt Regina talks to Henry a lot, and Henry lives with Mr. Gold, doesn't he? Maybe she knows what happened."</p><p>Opal frowned a little deeper for a minute. She was probably annoyed that she hadn't thought of that, though, not mad. Maybe. Garrick had never said it, but Opal frowned for a lot of different moods. She must get it from her dad.</p><p>Himself, Garrick smiled happily at the offer. "That would be great, Robbi! Thanks!"</p><p>She squirmed some more, squishing up her gloves in her fidgety hands. "Um. Sure-"</p><p>"Hey keep the line moving!" Phil complained from behind Robbi, reaching around her to prod at Garrick's back with a pushy finger. "Come on!"</p>
<hr/><p>There were plenty of reasons to regret this morning.</p><p>Realizing he wasn't ready to die, but facing the blinding terror that he might not have the choice anymore. Henry having to drive him to the hospital, knuckles white on the steering wheel as he broke the traffic safety laws of the sleepy streets. The crowning regret had been...choosing a method, that could only be fixed by having his stomach pumped. The addition of a local anesthetic to numb his throat, which was only just wearing off, hadn't helped at all.</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin had been told, as he was deposited in a hospital room, that he would be staying overnight for observation.</p><p>Henry was brought to the room a few moments later, with his cane. The rest of Rumpelstiltskin's things, his clothes and shoes, had been stuffed in a bag the nurse placed in the closet. Supposedly. He automatically reached for his ring finger, finding it naked save for a faint indent where his moonstone ring had been before he took it off in the waiting room.</p><p>"How you feeling?" Henry finally said, the words curling under on the end almost like he wasn't sure he could say them.</p><p>"I have been better...and worse." Rumpelstiltskin looked down, twisting the flimsy blanket between his fingers. The sheet-and that's what it was, a sheet, not a blanket,-was the only thing covering his legs, bared by the shapeless hospital gown that gaped open all the way down his back. He'd been permitted to keep his underpants. How gracious.</p><p>"Okay..."</p><p>There was another stretch of silence. A long and stiff one. Henry bounced his leg on and off, Rumpelstiltskin found himself twisting the poor-quality sheet blanket between his fingers nervously. This had been a mistake.</p><p>"Little bit." Henry muttered in agreement, making him realize he'd said the words aloud. "You...you really...you really scared me. Bad."</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. His throat felt horrible, numb as it was. "I'm sorry."</p><p>Henry nodded, looking down at his shoes. He was dressed in one of the suits he wore to the shop, still, his tie cast off somewhere.</p><p>"I don't have a good excuse. I just...I'm very tired of...if there were a way to just pause the world from turning for a moment, I'd have done that instead."</p><p>Henry nodded again. "Just don't..." he hesitated. "Don't do that. Not again. Don't shut everyone out and then decide we don't need you. I don't...I won't say I understand, <em>anything</em>, because I don't, but...you've gotta talk. To me, to someone. Archie. You're not alone, but you can't get any help if you just...pretend it's fine when it isn't."</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth. He wanted to say it wasn't fair for him to keep depending on Henry's support, that the boy should be taking care of his own future instead of propping up his grandfather's present. That he was tired of being a burden and a coward, afraid to leave the house for long lest some past enemy take their revenge on him now that he lacked any sort of protection.</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>Henry eyed him carefully. "Okay?"</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>That was a good enough answer for now. And the boy <em>was</em> right: He had to get some things straightened out, through Dr. Hopper at least. Then he might stand a chance of explaining them to others. And speaking of others...</p><p>"So." Henry rolled the cane between his palms, his expression turning to something a little...sheepish. "Belle called me. That is, Belle called me asking about you, before I came home. Actually that was why I came home, when you didn't answer your phone."</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin hadn't thought he'd needed his phone, obviously, so it had been sitting upstairs charging on his nightstand where he always left it overnight...oh no. A sense of not-quite-panic seized his chest. Not-quite, but not far from it either.</p><p>"Is she here?"</p><p>"No, but I am keeping her updated...I called her in the waiting room," Henry shifted in his seat. "She was worried about you. I mean she's probably <em>more</em> worried about you, now, but-Yeah, so. If she comes to the hospital do you...like, do you want to see her or-"</p><p>"I can't." Rumpelstiltskin blurted out. "I can't face her like this. I'm not even wearing fucking pants."</p><p>Belle had been displeased with a number of his terrible ideas plenty of times. Throwing her out the castle after their first kiss, abusing loopholes in promises, proposing with a fake dagger, taking back the powers of the Dark One, more or less anything he did in the Underworld period, delving in to risky and theoretical magicks without mentioning it until she found a spellbook bound in human skin in his nightstand. Honestly. What gods were so against him that she found the most gruesome of the books he'd been combing through right off the bat?</p><p>It was no wonder she'd believed he'd been behind the Black Cauldron so quickly, really. She had much later apologized, after Zelena had been caught and Regina finally admitted her half-sister was too dangerous to allow free run of Storybrooke, let alone custody of Robin Hood's daughter.</p><p>The apology had been sincere, wrought with guilt and shame, but the words wouldn't sink in. He knew she meant them. He knew she had only held off because she believed in the "house arrest" ploy. Even though sitting upright on the cell's cot was the extent of his abilities, so drained was he by having the Dark One ripped out, but Belle had been in too high a temper to notice. Then she had been perfectly content to leave him in the miserable dark. For the greater good.</p><p>Even if she'd apologized for it, it had <em>hurt</em>.</p><p>The idea to fake being held captive in his house, while recovering, had partially been Rumpelstiltskin's. Storybrooke General Hospital was not the most secure building in town, Dr. Whale had concurred because the man had received a concussion as a thanks for delivering Robbi Mills. The Charmings had taken that and run with it. Henry had complained, long and often in those weeks, that they'd barely brought Rumpelstiltskin back to the hospital from the cemetery before Hook had started running his mouth, so the foundation had already been laid.</p><p>The pirate was the reason the townsfolk, and Belle, were so ready to believe him a guilty man. And the Charmings had neither confirmed nor denied the misinformation until Henry had demanded they clear Rumpelstiltskin's name. Regina had arranged a full article in The Mirror but this had been when the suspicious grumblings persisted even after Zelena was arrested, after the tires of the Cadillac had been slashed, right in the driveway.</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin wished he could say he was disappointed. But he wasn't. And maybe that had...fed in to his recent bout of depression and anxiety. The town would be happy to see him gone, one way or the other, it didn't matter what he'd done. He didn't dare go back to the shop after the Cadillac incident. Regina had called on him, once, never to apologize for the oversight but with guilt oozing out her every pore.</p><p>If there was anything Rumpelstiltskin hated more than anything, it was the hollow pity of people who felt him too dirty to be allowed sympathy.</p><p>Regina's pity came from guilt, her sister once again ruining his life. The Charmings pity came from their ivory tower, sighing at what a pathetic picture he made, helpless as a mouse. Belle's pity...Belle's pity was more than he could stand.</p><p>"Is Archie supposed to come by today?"</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin snapped himself out his spiral. He had to keep from doing that, in the future, he'd indulged in the ugly thoughts too often lately. That was, after all, why he was here.</p><p>"Tomorrow, I think. Tomorrow. That's probably for the best."</p><p>"Yeah. Okay. So," Henry leaned over and hooked the cane on the edge of the bedside table. "I'm going to tell Belle you're going to be here overnight, and then I'm going to go home and grab some stuff, and your phone. Then I'm going to come back here and stay the night, and tomorrow we'll figure out what happens next. You want me to get anything else?"</p><p>He wanted to go <em>home</em>.</p><p>"No."</p>
<hr/><p>While they waited on news, Belle made the decision that they should still feign a normal routine. Which meant it was time for lunch, even though hunger was far from her mind.</p><p>Oliver had set up camp in the library with his lunchbox. Normally Belle didn't allow food or drink in the library, but she supposed he could take advantage of the fact that he was the librarian's son. She thought it might also be wise to let him have some time to himself instead of hovering over him. She might bring him down a glass of lemonade or something later to check on him, but for the moment, she didn't mind a bit of space to herself in the caretaker's apartment either.</p><p>There was a lot to process here.</p><p>Astrid had texted her, confirming the unfortunate fact that this was going to spread like wildfire. Of course Astrid hadn't wanted to know the truth, she just wanted to know if Belle needed her to run the library. Definitely tomorrow, though so far she didn't have more of a plan than that. Let Astrid run the library, while they did...something.</p><p>Belle was fretting over what something might be when her phone rang. She snatched it up and answered without hesitation. "Hello?"</p><p>
  <em>"Is it true what they're saying? I</em>
  <em>s he dead?"</em>
</p><p>"Papa!" Belle was a little stunned her father would be checking in on her, his was really the last voice she expected to hear today. "Wh-what do you mean dead?"</p><p><em>"The Dark One, Belle, is he dying?" </em>Maurice French thundered from his end of the line.<em> "That boy Henry brought him in to the hospital, I heard about it just now, but is it true what they're saying?"</em></p><p>"Papa, who said he was dying? Who did you hear all this from?" It was probably impossible to source the leak, but it sounded...suspiciously biased. Of course Rumple was never a popular figure in town. But he had people who hated him, and people who feared him, and people who just stayed out of his way because they had better things to do than meddle with a dark sorcerer. Or their landlord, when the rent had already been paid.</p><p><em>"Wait." </em>Rather than answering, Papa's tone shifted to one of suspicion.<em> "You aren't at the hospital right now, are you?"</em></p><p>"I am not. I am at the library, and he isn't dying, Papa." Belle sighed, peering out the kitchenette window that afforded her a rather dull view of Storybrooke's skyline. It really didn't look like Storybrooke without a peek of the clocktower, which was a bit of a trick since she lived under it. "We're fine by the way."</p><p>
  <em>"What?"</em>
</p><p>Belle pursed her lips. She loved her father, truly. If she didn't, she wouldn't have visited his apartment once a week after his heart attack scare, to check in and make sure he wasn't subsisting off frozen dinners and takeout alone. She wouldn't invite him to family events, and she wouldn't buy him gifts on the appropriate occasions.</p><p>But she did<em> not</em> have the energy for his refusal to acknowledge she was still married to Rumple. Or that he was Oliver's father and, if for no other reason than that, she would never rejoice in the Dark One having a brush with...well. She just couldn't right now.</p><p>"I know you don't care for Mr. Gold, but he is the father of my child," Belle began diplomatically. But the scoff from the other end of the phone left her swallowing a burst of irritation.</p><p><em>" </em>Father?<em> He trapped you here just when you were about to leave him for good, then lied about what he was and skipped off to the Underworld! Did you forget that you're the one raising the boy? He only lives with the boy once a week for crying out loud!"</em></p><p>Her father had never quite grasped the concept of a custody arrangement.</p><p>Belle pinched the bridge of her nose. They had rehashed this subject a dozen times, she knew exactly how it would go, but she still would rather not. "Papa, please. Don't-Look I'll call you back-"</p><p>"<em>No! Now Belle, you have to understand I only want what's best for you. And that beast isn't it. Even if he isn't dying, you need to get yourself a good lawyer for you and the boy-"</em></p><p>"Oliver!" Belle snapped. "Oliver, Papa, his name is Oliver. Our son's name is Oliver, mine and Gold's, or Rumpelstiltskin, or the Dark One, or whatever you want to call my husband. The husband I am not serving divorce papers in the emergency room!"</p><p><em>"I didn't say serve them now!"</em> Papa argued. <em>"But if you ask me, a clean break is what you need. You need to cut the Dark One off, for good this time, for both you and the boy. Let him sort his own mess out, stop wasting time playing nice with the beast and move on!"</em></p><p>Belle's mouth opened and shut, twice. No sound came out though.</p><p>Over the past decade, she and Rumple had tried to work things out. They'd also brought up the idea of a divorce, a time or three, but never seriously pursued it.</p><p>Then there had been a...misunderstanding, three years back. It was the last time she'd allowed herself to think they could make things work if they tried hard enough. And she'd found a spellbook in his nightstand at the same time things were going so well she'd actually grown paranoid. The fact that the book was bound in what appeared to be human skin had not...helped. It was unquestionably the worst fight she'd ever had with Rumple, if only because they'd both fought back instead of leaving it at a one-sided outburst.</p><p>But even then, as now, just as she'd told Oliver, she certainly didn't want him to stop living.</p><p><em>"Belle? Belle, are you there?"</em> Papa grumbled.<em> "Damn phone-</em>Belle!<em> Are you-"</em></p><p>Belle hung up.</p><p>She loved her father. Even though he was absolutely horrible.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Moe is a bad dad. May he choke on a peanut. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. In Which Thoughts Are Lonely Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Like...is it canon that Robin Hood's daughter is Robin Hood Jr.? Is Robyn a fan-spelling? Or is she Robin Mills? I...I don't know, and it shouldn't matter when half of OUAT canon is disposable, but I hate not-knowing something. Anyway: Robbi POV incoming, followed by some angsty introspection by Rumple. Bon appetit!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing Robbi had always hated about school was the bell.</p><p>It wasn't the fact that it rang all the time. When class started, when it ended, when it was time for lunch, when recess was over, when it was time to go home. The sound was shrill and loud. She didn't understand why they even needed a bell, because all the kids kept an eye on the clock, waiting for the chance to leave the classroom. And that was why she hated the bell so much.</p><p>It started a stampede.</p><p>Robbi had always waited to go last when it was time to leave, for any reason. She was the last person to collect her lunchbox, the last person to put away her coat, the last to leave the classroom. She was never in so big a hurry that she'd risk being trampled just to get out the door faster, honestly, she wasn't sure why every other kid was in a hurry to jump in to the hallways. All the other classrooms emptied out in to the halls at the same time, and kids of all ages rushed for the exits, forcing each other along at the same pace.</p><p>The whole thing made Robbi wonder if this was how salmon felt being swept upstream.</p><p>When she was pushed outside by the current, cold air stinging her eyes, she stumbled to safety on the sidewalk well out the way. She drew her hood up against the wind, looking around for her aunt's car.</p><p>She didn't see it yet. She spotted Emma's bright yellow Volkswagen. Some kids were hopping on the school bus parked to the side. She saw parents drifting among the students, looking for their own kids. It didn't worry her that Aunt Regina might be running a little late, not today, and Robbi didn't even have to take those deep breaths in and out to calm herself over it.</p><p>"Hi Robbi!"</p><p>Garrick Booth's cheery greeting made Robbi flinch. Having her big, furry hood up meant suffering a degree of tunnel vision. Robbi didn't mind because it was a <em>warm</em> tunnel, but still, she hadn't seen or heard anyone coming up behind her.</p><p>"Uh. H-hi."</p><p>Garrick had a package of fruit snacks in his hands he was trying to open, and Opal beside him. The plasticky packaging was proving to be difficult to get a grip on, at least while he was wearing his gloves, but he kept at it while talking to Robbi.</p><p>"You waiting on your aunt?"</p><p>"Uh, yeah. She's not here yet."</p><p>"Neither's my mom. Or Grandpa," Garrick paused, looking puzzled. "I forgot who's coming, actually. One of them."</p><p>Opal rolled her eyes when he put a corner of the package in his mouth and started trying to rip it open with his teeth. "Just take your gloves off," she said. Her puffy white coat made her look a bit like a grouchy marshmallow, and she was wearing a pink beanie that matched her mittens.</p><p>"I a'mos' goddit!"</p><p>Opal rolled her eyes again, turning so she didn't have to look at him. Robbi personally couldn't look away, half wondering how he would manage it, half wondering if Garrick was going to hurt himself.</p><p>Neal Nolan was what Robbi considered to be her best friend. They'd known each other a long time, most of their lives in fact. His was the only birthday party she attended, and his family was the only one that invited her or Mum to parties in general. Before Neal found better friends that liked the same things he did, they used to play together a lot. Robbi understood she probably wasn't <em>his</em> best friend, but he was still hers. She felt that way anyhow. But, she also thought she might be friends with Garrick now...</p><p>But she wasn't sure his friends liked her.</p><p>Garrick was nice, but Garrick was nice to everyone. Oliver was almost as quiet as Robbi, and two quiet people did a whole lot of not-talking together, but he was very polite. Opal was...not.</p><p>To be fair, Robbi didn't know much about Opal. She didn't know a lot about many people, in general, but she didn't even know what Opal's last name was, or why she always eyed Robbi with so much suspicion. She had ever since kindergarten, or just as likely, ignored her completely. Neal thought Opal had a bad attitude and kept telling Robbi she shouldn't bother with any of those three kids. But...if they were still being fair, Opal's scrutinizing eyes or indifference were still better than how Neal treated Garrick.</p><p>Her best friend thought of Robbi's potential other friend as loud, annoying, and clumsy. And maybe even dangerous. Garrick was the only kid in school known to have magic, even if the only trick he knew was how to change the colors of things. (In second grade he'd gotten in trouble for turning Alyssa Roquefort's hair bright pink, but she'd asked him to do it and cried when they'd changed her hair back to ashy brown.) But Garrick was also friends with Oliver, who Neal had never gotten on very well with. Maybe that was why he didn't like him, him being Garrick, because Robbi was never sure why Neal hated Oliver so much.</p><p>It was all a little confusing. Robbi wasn't sure how to put it, but she should probably mention it to Dr. Hopper one of these days...</p><p>"You really think your aunt will know what happened?"</p><p>It took Robbi a little too long to realize Opal was talking to her. "Um...I-Well, I know she calls Henry and talks to him, a lot."</p><p>Opal nodded distractedly. Robbi supposed if it were Neal, who had been picked up from school in the middle of the day with no explanation, she would be worried too. Friends worried about each other.</p><p>"So...um...you think something happened to Mr. Gold? Or Miss Belle?" Robbi hoped the librarian was okay, she had always been so nice to Robbi even when she lived with Mum. It made her feel guilty, that she'd...um...<em>borrowed</em>, the library's copy of The Secret Garden. She would have given it back, if only she knew how to do it without getting caught, now. Honest.</p><p>Garrick finally succeeded in ripping the corner off the snack package. He poked around until he drew a purple snack out and popped it in his mouth. "I heard Mrs. Nolan say it was his mom picking him up, though. It could be Henry."</p><p>"Mrs. Nolan was called out of the room first," Opal nodded. Then frowned. "But if something happened to Henry, Neal probably would have been pulled out of class because they're both his uncles."</p><p>All of Henry's uncles were children, because time had kept everyone from the Enchanted Forest young while Emma had grown up outside of the first curse. Well mostly young. While the Nolans were Emma's same age, more or less, Mr. Gold kind of always looked old-ish, much older than Miss Belle the librarian. He used to be immortal but now that he wasn't the Dark One, he was just a regular person. Or at least he was supposed to be. Neal thought Mr. Gold was faking it because he was a liar and a villain.</p><p>Robbi figured that since Henry lived with him, Mr. Gold was just a person. Henry's grandpa, which made Oliver his uncle. Sometimes Robbi wondered what she was to Henry if his adoptive mother was her aunt, but she was afraid the answer would be complicated and need diagrams.</p><p>"So something happened to Mr. Gold?" Garrick put a random trio of brightly colored snacks in his mouth at the same time. Robbi wasn't sure if the face he made was from that confusion or the clash of flavors. "I hope not, he's really nice."</p><p>"Is he?" Robbi had never heard such a thing before. But then again, as Tommy was fond of saying, she hardly knew anything about anyone.</p><p>"Oh yeah, he used to be our landlord before we moved in with Grandpa. He never tried evicting us or anything, he even let Mom get out the lease early so we could stay with Grandpa after he hurt his knee. I think that's a myth, that throws people out for fun."</p><p>"It's not a myth, some people are just babies." Opal huffed. "I mean, if he did that all the time, then nobody would live in his buildings because they'd all be thrown out. And if he were all <em>that</em> nasty, Miss Belle wouldn't trust him with Oliver, and our parents wouldn't trust him with us."</p><p>Robbi wasn't overly familiar with playdates. But she couldn't imagine one in Mr. Gold's house, with him supervising. There were stories about him making deals with people's kids as the price, it made sense for people not to trust him with their own. Mum had always said that Mr. Gold was a sly imp who never did anything that didn't benefit him.</p><p>Mum had also kept Mr. Gold locked in a cage for a year, controlled by the Dark One's dagger. She might have killed his son, Henry's father, and even if she hadn't Robbi still knew she hadn't cared who got hurt by those monsters the Black Cauldron had created. She'd told her so when Robbi visited on Sundays. It was supposed to be good for both of them to keep in contact, and it wasn't that Robbi didn't love her mother any less. Mum had always taken care of her, she didn't want for other kids to bully her for being her daughter the way other kids bullied Oliver for being Mr. Gold's son, and she'd offered to get Robbi any kind of pet she wanted after Brownie died.</p><p>She just wished her mother wasn't so...much about it. What was the better word? Zealous? No, that hadn't been strong enough. Robbi didn't have a great vocabulary, and if she did she was bad at putting things in to words. Archie had given her a thesaurus and told her to find the words for her feelings that way, writing them down if she had to-</p><p>"I think it's all the black he wore."</p><p>Robbi blinked, feeling she missed a step. Opal looked like she felt the same. "What?"</p><p>"I think it's all the black he wears, Mr. Gold. That must be the reason why they still call him the Dark One."</p><p>"That doesn't make any sense!" Opal immediately protested. "He wears colored shirts and ties too. And even if he didn't, then what about all the black that Mayor Mills wears, too? Why don't they just call her the Dark One, or the Dark Queen?"</p><p>"Maleficent wears dark colors, too." Robbi dared to say. "No one calls her anything."</p><p>"She's a dragon, nobody has to call her anything because she's a dragon!" Garrick insisted with a wild hand gesture that made an orange fruit snack bounce out the package. He didn't notice. "And they call Mayor Mills the Evil Queen, she can't be the Dark One, because she's the Evil Queen."</p><p>"Okay, hold up. With your dragon logic, then, why do they call the Blue Fairy, you know, the <em>Blue</em> Fairy. My mom can name at least six other blue fairies off the top of her head."</p><p>"Doesn't she have another name?" Robbi hesitated. "Something like...um...like rule-worm?"</p><p>A laugh burst out of Opal's mouth.</p><p>"Rhuel <em>Worm</em>!" It took Robbi a moment to realize she wasn't being laughed at. Garrick almost choked on a poorly-timed swallow when Opal suddenly clasped her hands together, as if in prayer, and loudly declared: "Praise be to Mother Superi-worm! Amen!"</p><p>A giggle leaked through the hand Robbi slapped over her mouth. She didn't really understand the joke. Much. But the image of an earthworm dressed as a nun was very, very funny in her head.</p><p>Garrick finally cleared his throat, his face red from choking and laughing at the same time. He wisely shoved the rest of his fruit snacks in to his pocket. He looked like he was about to say something, but then squinted across the parking lot.</p><p>"Hey, there's my mom!" He pointed towards an incoming compact car, covered with peeling paint that was neither brown nor green but a muddy blend of both. One of the mirrors was duct-taped on. There was a dent in the driver's side door that looked like it had almost been popped back out. Almost. "I'm gonna go tell her that right now, she's gonna love it!"</p><p>He sprinted down the sidewalk until he could safely jump in to the street, running for the ugly little car. Robbi wasn't certain why a fairy would be driving such a contraption, but Aunt Regina had said that Tinkerbell was an uncommon fairy. Speaking of, Aunt Regina's car was turning in, too.</p><p>"That's my aunt." She blurted out. "Um...I should...um..."</p><p>"You don't need to ask her anything."</p><p>Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Opal looked at Robbi squarely in the eye. Even though she had to tilt her head up to do it, it was still unsettling. Maybe it was unsettling because Robbi was a good year older and almost two inches taller, at least, but Opal was twice as brave as she had ever felt. "My mom works with Miss Belle at the library. If it's bad enough that she pulled Oliver out of school, it's probably bad enough for her to ask Mom to work at the library tomorrow. We'll figure it out ourselves."</p><p>Robbi hesitated. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say to that. Or do. Was Opal telling her <em>not</em> to help? Or was she saying she already knew who to ask? Did she think Robbi was going to get them in trouble?</p><p>"HEY!"</p><p>They both looked up to find Garrick was leaning halfway out the passenger window of his mother's car, waving an arm. "HEY!" he shouted. "OPAL! MOM SAYS YOU'RE RIDING WITH US, C'MON! OH! BYE ROBBI, HAVE A NICE DAY!"</p><p>And Opal was off the curb before Robbi could figure out what she meant, without another word.</p><p>She waved awkwardly at Garrick, who beamed as he slithered back inside the car. Then, because it was cold and lacking anymore reason to stand on the sidewalk, Robbi made her way over to Aunt Regina's car, feeling very confused. And unexpectedly curious.</p><p>"Hey. How was school?" her aunt asked.</p><p>The heater was turned on inside, and as soon as Robbi tossed her things in the back seat, she held her hands over one of the vents. "Good. Um..." she focused on her wiggling fingers. "Did something happen today? To Mr. Gold?"</p><p>She wasn't expecting the car to go so quiet. Except for the air blasting out of the heater.</p><p>"What did you hear?" Aunt Regina asked. She was sitting very still, and straight, in her seat. Both hands were on the wheel, wrapped in dark red driving gloves.</p><p>Robbi swallowed. She felt like her insides were folding in on each other, curling in a hard ball, but the words tumbled out of her mouth. They sounded like an apology and she didn't know why. "I just thought, um, Oliver had to leave class before lunch. And his friends thought something had happened to him, but since it was his mom that picked him up…"</p><p>She wasn't sure what she was expecting. Something bad maybe. Probably. Something upsetting. Maybe she'd even be told to mind her own business, to stop being <em>silly</em>, not that Aunt Regina had said that yet. Robbi had not, however, been expecting her aunt to turn forward in her seat to stare through the windshield and mutter, so low that it was almost inaudible:</p><p>"Nothing stays a damn secret in this town..."</p>
<hr/><p>The hair-netted woman, who was in charge of delivering meals to the hospital patients, gave Rumpelstiltskin a menu late in the afternoon and told him to order off part marked "gastrointestinal diet", which largely consisted of liquids and soft foods. Tomorrow he could start an unrestricted diet but due to having the contents forcibly removed hours earlier, it was best to start gently.</p><p>He ordered a cup of what promised to be chicken noodle soup. It seemed one of the more dignified options, compared to popsicles, gelatins, or puddings, all available in a rainbow of flavors. Original or sugar-free. The broth had a few limp, pale noodles at the bottom of the plastic bowl, not as warm as it could have been, and came with crackers and a cup of ice water. He had not ordered tea, although that was an option, since he didn't trust what the hospital considered tea would actually be lukewarm, brown water. In a cup.</p><p>(The chocolate pudding he may have ordered, full-sugar, came out alright though.)</p><p>Henry had long since returned, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. He came back not long before the woman and her cart loaded with trays reappeared, and she kindly asked Henry if he would like a guest tray. Henry accepted the offer in good faith, and the woman returned with a second tray.</p><p>It bore a frosty can of ginger ale, a plastic cup full of ice, a smaller cup full of gelatin, and a plate with a plastic lid over the top of it. Supposedly, under the lid, was roast beef and gravy, with mashed potatoes and steamed green beans.</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin was only certain that the meat had once been a cow because it was distinctly leather in appearance, dribbled with thin, pale brown gravy. The green beans were rather more grey, overcooked and laying listless across a third of the plate. The potatoes looked suitable enough but the face Henry pulled when he naturally went for those, first, indicated the lid had done little to keep the food warm.</p><p>Henry put the cover back over the plate and tried the gelatin. It appeared to be orange, with two halves of a pitted cherry suspended inside. He observed, eyeing one of the fruits caught on his spoon with extreme prejudice.</p><p>"I think," he put the spoon down, "the cafeteria is still open. I'm gonna go have a look."</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin glanced up at the large clock stuck to the wall across from the bed. "Do they serve breakfast?"</p><p>"Probably. Don't you get a tray for..." Henry glanced down at the tray across his lap for a moment. "I think I heard they make French toast, in the morning. I'll see what time they open."</p><p>"Excellent."</p><p>Henry looked like he was going to say something else, but instead went off to find the cafeteria. By then, Rumpelstiltskin had drained the soup neatly, polished off his crackers and water, (and pudding,) and was left with nothing but an empty tray and noisy mind.</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin found himself wondering what Dr. Hopper was going to want to discuss. He'd surely want to hear whatever reasoning was so sound that Rumpelstiltskin had hidden the nasty little thoughts at his last appointment in favor of jumping straight to a suicide attempt.</p><p>Well...</p><p>He was very tired. As he'd told Henry. Tired of living alone in his too-large house except for the weekends when Oliver stayed over. Tired of being blamed for things. Tired of people only coming to him with their hands out, expecting miracles for nothing and services for free. Tired of being "the Dark One" who was not, really, the Dark One anymore.</p><p>That was another problem.</p><p>His curse was gone. Sucked in to the Black Cauldron, a sacrifice he didn't <em>truly</em> regret. He did regret being powerless, but more than that, he regretted holding on to the corruptive influence so long he wasn't sure who he was without it. It was different when he wasn't psyching himself up to fight a bear or engage in a poorly-matched swordfight.</p><p>It didn't help that, physically, he had been affected by the sacrifice too. The curse had mended his mangled foot, made him immortal, immune to disease. He felt aches and pains a man of his age would normally feel, the arthritis that had set in to his ill-healed bones. Dr. Whale had been consulted to check on his health and, in the annoyingly breezy way the good doctor had, prescribed an over-the-counter painkiller, suggested a multivitamin, and gave him some exercises to rebuild his strength.</p><p>He had rarely felt so useless, and he had never felt so old. He should have been talking about it to Dr. Hopper all along but he felt choked by overly familiar shame. He felt like a fucking crippled spinner.</p><p>And he didn't know how to fix what he was.</p>
<hr/><p>Storybrooke General Hospital's cafeteria was experiencing a dinnertime rush.</p><p>There was a motley mix of nurses and techs in different colored scrubs, other employees wearing badges and the odd lab coat, and visitors like himself. There was a counter separating them from where the cooks were busily throwing things on a griddle or a fryer as required, and another area that had different foods sitting out like a school cafeteria to be dished out in takeout boxes. There was a long line of people split between the grill and the ready-made food, all checking a large chalkboard for the prices of available options.</p><p>Henry did not bother with the line. There was a refrigerated case with a few sandwiches left, so he picked one that was ham and swiss. He grabbed some chips, a packet of mustard to put on the sandwich, a soda for now and a bottle of water for later, and when he spotted the larger freezer, he grabbed an ice cream sandwich as well.</p><p>He got in line to pay for his haul when his phone dinged, an alert that he had a text message.</p><p>While Henry had been out, gathering up stuff for an overnight stay and changing clothes, and getting Violet up to speed, there had been a number of calls and texts. People wanting to know if the rumors were true? How was Gold, was Henry okay? Most of the calls he ignored, the texts were easily dealt with by saying:<strong> I'll call you later.</strong> Which could make for a vicious cycle for some people but that was the price they paid for being nosy.</p><p>Jefferson had been the only caller that he had answered. The formerly mad hatter was at the top of the very short list of people Gold enjoyed talking to, what normal people would call 'friends', so he deserved an abbreviated explanation. He'd then made Henry promise to tell Gold a specific message: "I am coming to your home when you are home you misanthropic hermit and I am bringing tea."</p><p>Gold had looked torn between taking it as a threat and finding it amusing. Which neatly summed up most of his relationships with 'friends', Henry had found. However, Jefferson had not texted Henry just now. Emma had.</p><p>
  <strong>Do you need anything?</strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Theories? Questions? Tears? Leave them below and receive free tissues!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. In Which There Are Links</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cleo scrambled away from the dinner table up to her room. She had been in the middle of Adventures of Frog and Toad when Emma called her down for dinner. Cleo had only paused to put three Oreos on a plate because she was in the mood for cookies after reading about Frog and Toad's attempt to use willpower (and a box, string, and a ladder,) to keep from eating all of their cookies.</p><p>Her daughter was precious.</p><p>As for her son...</p><p>Killian had went to pour himself his traditional post-dinner bit of rum while she started clearing the table. "You hear about the Crocodile?"</p><p>"Yeah...Regina called me," Emma closed up the dishwasher. Henry always remember the laundry, even the towels, but he never put his dishes away. "She talked to Henry."</p><p>Killian wrinkled his nose. "Just because he was right about the witch's girl, doesn't mean you should forgive him for what he said." In Killian's head, the whole thing had boiled down to disrespect. Against Emma, against their family. Emma didn't feel disrespected so much as hurt, but she'd never been able to make that clear.</p><p>"It's not about that," she said, planning her next words carefully. "Henry and Gold are, you know, they're all the other has left of Neal. I don't understand the relationship but they have one, and if he loses it, my son's going to be very upset."</p><p>"So you're just going to ignore how he stormed off to his other mother's house like a child running away, waiting for you to come after him an apologize? He made his choice, Emma, and it wasn't you."</p><p>Emma picked up the dish sponge and scrubbed the empty pot of mac and cheese harder than strictly necessary. "He didn't make a choice, Killian, I told him to leave."</p><p>That was the one point that Killian never had a strong enough argument to, even if it wasn't strictly true. In the heat of the moment, she wasn't sure how much he remembered about what was said. But Emma hadn't thrown Henry out, and she wasn't above using it when this old argument got out of hand. And sure enough, it made Killian mutter in to his tumbler instead of press the issue.</p><p>She immediately took advantage of the lull: "I'm not going to go over with a casserole or anything, Killian. I just want to make sure he's okay. Or I'm just going to keep worrying about it, until you let me do this, or until I get a very permanent headache."</p><p>That made Killian roll his eyes.</p><p>"Fine. Go mother your son." He knocked back the rest of his glass. "Just keep out of the Crocodile's lair, I don't want you going in there alone."</p><p>Emma rolled her eyes at that. "He's got one good leg and not an ounce of magic, Killian, what can Gold possibly do to me?"</p><p>"I don't trust him," he insisted. "Just meet the lad somewhere public and you can fuss over him as much as you like, aye?"</p><p>"Aye." Emma beamed, patting her hands dry to go over and give him a kiss. "Thank you."</p><p>Every disaster to happen to Storybrooke came from a chain of events. A long one, a short one, a winding one, a straight one, Emma had been in town long enough to notice the pattern.</p><p>If the Black Cauldron hadn't happened, Henry wouldn't be in the hospital after Gold had done whatever to land himself there. He of course would be the one to find Gold, because he had been looking after his weakened, mortal grandfather ever since the Dark One was ripped out to shut off the Crockpot of the Damned.</p><p>The Black Cauldron wouldn't have happened if Zelena hadn't been batshit insane. Regina should never have allowed the woman unfettered access to her daughter, let alone the freedom to raise her in an isolated farmhouse way out in the boonies. (Even just freedom in general, maybe.) But, and Emma supposed she couldn't really blame her, Regina had been determined that the Wicked Witch needed to have the same opportunities that had rehabilitated the Evil Queen. Including raising her own child.</p><p>This didn't take the ugly fact that Zelena was a narcissist in to account. Everyone else was at fault, not her, everyone else had a problem, not her. By the time Regina removed her rose-colored glasses and tried to control the situation, it was too late.</p><p>And if Zelena didn't have the obsessive need to keep Robbi to herself, the girl might not have had the panic attack aboard the Jolly. It was a school field trip, the first for the new fourth grade class. Robbi had been in the group taking their turn below decks on a tour when, and whether it was the lack of air or the crush of excited children or the way sound bounced off the wooden walls...something had triggered a panic attack.</p><p>Lancelot was there chaperoning his and Guinevere's daughter. He'd helped his now-wife with her...recovery, from what Arthur had put her through under the Sands of Avalon. He must have spotted the attack first, and he'd definitely done some kind of trick in getting Robbi to calm down by the time her aunt arrived.</p><p>If Henry hadn't been living with Regina at the time, he wouldn't have been at home when she brought Robbi home until Zelena could pick her up. From there, she'd allowed Zelena to whisk Robbi home to that creepy little farmhouse without question...and in hindsight Henry had a right to question that choice. And get mad that Regina stubbornly refused to admit, least of all to herself, that Zelena's possessiveness was causing her daughter serious problems. And then fight about it, until he left his other mother's house and somehow wound up with Gold. And he wouldn't have left Emma's house to live with Regina in the first place, if she'd controlled the situation better.</p><p>And despite everything, that was the true anchor in the chain of events that brought them to where they were.</p><p>If Emma could have just managed the argument a little bit better, there wouldn't be a wall between her and Henry today that made offering support...awkward. Very awkward.</p><p>It wasn't an impenetrable wall. Henry still talked to her, once in a while they took Cleo out to Granny's for an early dinner. That was nice. Henry loved his baby sister just as much as Cleo adored her big brother, but he just...had never really gotten along with Killian.</p><p>Henry didn't really care for Killian. He never had, but he tolerated him for Emma's sake, and stayed two weeks with them, and two weeks with Regina after the whole...Underworld thing, started settling down. It was a good arrangement that put a little bit of space between the pair of them. Killian tolerated Henry, too, but when Cleo came along he felt Henry was starting to intrude.</p><p>Emma had found out she was pregnant during a very...rough patch, in her marriage. Back then, Killian had been caught day-drinking on-duty, and gotten his first suspension, <em>and</em> refused to admit he had a problem. When Emma let David take the sheriff's badge while she tried to get her husband to seek treatment, Killian had responded with rum-fueled resistance and stormed off to sulk on the Jolly. At least he had until Emma told him about their baby. Her family had mostly been supportive of her choices, but Emma couldn't shake the feeling she'd disappointed them somehow.</p><p>They'd never talked about having kids, Emma honestly hadn't ever given the idea much thought. Killian never indicated he wanted them either for all he'd taken responsibility for his newfound family. But...sometimes Emma felt she'd tricked him. Trapped him. Taken advantage of his sense of honor to keep him, and get him straightened out.</p><p>And...admittedly, when it came to parenting, Killian was almost always at a loss.</p><p>He had next to no experience with babies, even less than Emma, who was relying on the times she'd babysat her little brother and sister, and a few fake memories of carrying for Henry. Even when Cleo was a chubby, black-haired toddler, Killian still wasn't sure what to do with her. He got along well enough with her brother Neal, maybe he would have been more comfortable with a rough-and-tumble little pirate instead of a bug-loving princess.</p><p>But Henry felt Emma was making excuses, making things easier for Killian to keep from trying.</p><p>The night they fought, Killian had been late in coming home. It didn't matter to Henry that he only went out twice a month to see his friends down at the Rabbit Hole, or whatever little hole-in-the-wall a sailor might curl up in, if Killian was going to say he'd be home by ten, he should have been home by ten. Emma was willing to be forgiving, and Henry said that was the problem. That Killian stomped all over her boundaries and she apologized for having them in the first place.</p><p>Then he'd said: "You never would have let Neal treat you that way."</p><p>Emma couldn't say where the hot burst of...something had come from. But it burned and inflamed what was an old, tired discussion in to a full-on argument. Killian came home in the middle of it and naturally sided against Henry, even though he had no idea what was going on and his slurred words only made her son angrier. Emma finally blurted out that Henry needed to leave. And she hadn't meant it in a "get out of my house" or "I'm choosing my husband over you" way. She meant...go for a walk, cool off, that sort of thing. It made sense to tell Henry to do it because Killian was a bit drunk and just got home, she needed to calm him down before she could settle things...</p><p>And Emma was terrified Henry didn't believe the same thing. She really wasn't sure what she'd do if he decided to cut her out entirely.</p><hr/><p>Belle hadn't so much slept as she had closed her eyes, burrowed under the covers, and wished this were all a nightmare she could shake awake from when the sun rose.</p><p>Without any such luck, she'd sent a tentative message to Henry, at a quarter to seven when a new day had dawned. When he answered unexpectedly, saying it was impossible to sleep soundly on the recliner provided as a bed, they started making loose plans on what they should do.</p><p>Henry said the only thing he knew was planned for today was a visit from Archie before lunch. The doctors, physical and psychological, would likely all confer after that and decide when to discharge Rumple and what steps to take afterwards. He didn't say anything about Rumple's state of mind until Belle bit the bullet: <strong>How is he feeling?</strong></p><p>
  <strong>Yesterday he wasn't embarrassed exactly. Kind of regretful. Something to work out with Archie I guess.</strong>
</p><p>Belle nodded to herself in her darkened bedroom. That sounded reasonable enough. This had to be the only situation in the world where regret was one of the best choices. Especially since, healthwise, Rumple seemed to be doing well. As far as she knew.</p><p>
  <strong>Can Oliver visit him, do you think? He wants to see him.</strong>
</p><p>When Oliver had come up for a dinner they'd both picked at unenthusiastically, he seemed very introspective. Not that Belle spoke much either, she imagined both their heads were filled with noisy thoughts, but eventually he'd mentioned wanting to see his father today. Belle hadn't been able to promise more than to ask Henry about it, which she thought might've frustrated Oliver more than he let on.</p><p>
  <strong>I'll ask. Not to offend you but he doesn't want you to see him here.</strong>
</p><p>Belle bit her lip. She supposed she wasn't offended. Confused, a little at a lost. But to be fair she wasn't certain she could face him either, in a hospital bed. If Belle were there for a check-up or visiting someone after they'd had a baby, it was different. Something about the overly sterile smell of a hospital, the gowns and the scrubs and the people who wore them, all made her...<em>antsy</em>.</p><p>No one needed her to be <em>antsy</em> right now.</p><p>
  <strong>That's okay. Oliver has the day off from school, so he'll be with me all day. If you get discharged this afternoon maybe I can drop him off, just keep me updated.</strong>
</p><p>Henry seemed to like that idea. <strong>They both might like that. I'll bringing it up at breakfast and see how he's feeling after Archie leaves.</strong></p><p>
  <strong>Can I tell Oliver that? He's begging for more information than I have to give, he'd love to have an estimate on when he can see Rumple.</strong>
</p><p><strong>Ah.</strong> Henry had known all about the lost period when Oliver had been separated from his father. He hadn't necessarily approved of Belle's choice to keep mum after she learned the truth, but Henry had forgiven her when she'd apologized. And for gently reminding her every gossiping patron how her estranged husband was quite innocent.<strong> Absolutely. When I figure it out I'll give you a call and I can talk to him.</strong></p><p>That sounded perfect and she told him so. Then she got up, shrugged on her robe, and padded out in to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.</p><p>While the kettle boiled, and after a quick glance at the clock, Belle tried calling Astrid. She was only a little surprised to get an answer, because she understood mornings to be a bit busy at their house. She loved Oliver very much, but Belle had a hard time imagining raising him, and a pair of toddler-aged twins at the same time. Even if Rumple were there to help.</p><p>
  <em>"Hi Belle! I was just about to call-Opal where did your brother go? Can you bring him back?-sorry, I was just about to call you! I'm free all day, so I can be at the library when it opens, or whenever you need me."</em>
</p><p>Astrid had left the convent not long after Belle, Zelena, and baby Robbi had been sent to the Underworld. She had an argument with Blue, about why couldn't the fairies have taken care of the babies when Robin's daughter had been in the nursery? Astrid hadn't been allowed to care for either baby because she was deemed <em>too careless</em> for the responsibility, but that Blue only allowed the fairies to become nursemaids for Snow White and David's baby had...not sat well with her.</p><p>It didn't sit well with Belle either, but she'd had other things frustrating her at the time involving her own baby.</p><p>Word had gotten around fast when Belle and Rumple came back, together but separately, to town about the baby. Reactions were mixed between people asking if she was sure she was pregnant because she and Rumple hadn't been back together for long, if she was sure it was Rumple's baby, if she was keeping Rumple's child, if she was afraid of Rumple taking them away, if she was just plain afraid of Rumple...</p><p>It quickly became apparent that Belle wasn't allowed to be an expectant mother, impatiently waiting on the arrival of her child. Not to most people in Storybrooke. No. If she wasn't a weeping, inconsolable mess, or looking for a way to fight her estranged husband tooth and nail every step of the way, Belle wasn't interesting enough to talk to for most people.</p><p>Astrid hadn't been one of them. Belle was too relieved to ask why at first, but when she did, Astrid just said she'd thought Belle knew what she was doing. The library building itself, (not the clocktower, unfortunately,) was shrouded in protective wards and charms. Even Leroy, she'd said, agreed Belle was the last person in Storybrooke that Rumple would hurt on purpose. Otherwise he wouldn't have been so eager to get her out the way whenever he did do something evil and scary.</p><p>Although Belle could have very easily told Astrid that it wasn't that simple, that nothing with Rumple ever was so straightforward...it was just so nice to hear.</p><p>Astrid was more interested in building a life with her own True Love, (which included a highly unplanned pregnancy that necessitated an adult sex-ed course Belle had organized,) and doing her best in the library than in prying for gossip. It was refreshing, although to be fair there were others that didn't look on her exclusively as the Dark One's baby-oven.</p><p>Leroy had dragged his brothers in to remodel the apartment to include an extra bedroom. Granny had started knitting baby things and fussing at Belle to eat more. Archie also fussed at Belle to eat more because he, too, had noticed she didn't eat when she was stressed. Archie had also started offering appointments to Belle, or to lend an ear if she needed one.</p><p>Belle had declined that particular offer. All her problems were personal, between her and Rumple, for them to work out themselves.</p><p>Not that Archie ever took that hint. To this day he reminded Belle his door was always open, and that if she was uncomfortable talking to him, there were apps she could use that were completely anonymous and private. She was a little surprised that Rumple, without any apparent prompting other than his own, had started to see Archie a few years ago.</p><p>"Belle?"</p><p>Oh right. Astrid.</p><p>"I'm still here. Um..." Belle glanced at the clock on the microwave. "I'd appreciate it if you could come in before lunch. I'll be expecting Henry to call me then, so if you could take over, that would be great."</p><p><em>"Absolutely. Oh! I'll bring lunch! Hold on a second..."</em>  The sound became muffled for a moment, but Belle thought she heard childish voices standing out. And she definitely heard Astrid say something along the lines of <em>"what do you need that for?"</em> which was probably directed at the twins.</p><p><em>"Good morning Miss Belle!"</em> Opal said out of the blue.<em> "Mom wants to know if you'd like her to bring grilled cheese and tomato soup, but she's got to wrangle the can opener from Joseph first."</em></p><p>"Oh. No, no, she doesn't have to do that," Belle started. "I-Why does he have a can opener?"</p><p><em>"They've got an  </em>imaginary friend<em> now. They leave him snacks on the back porch."</em> Opal used the tone of a world-weary nine-year-old to scorn the fancies of her younger brothers.<em> "Joseph wants to leave him tuna for breakfast. Dad's probably gonna hide his sardines in his toolbox soon. You want ham sandwiches instead? We got sourdough."</em></p><p>"Oh no, no, she doesn't have to do that, it's fine."</p><p><em>"Okay."</em> Opal agreeably. Belle barely had time to register her suspicions at how simple that was when the subject was abruptly changed. <em>"Dad's got the can opener, Mom's coming back now. Tell Oli I said hi!"</em></p><p>The phone changed hands again. There was a pause in the exchange, before Astrid's voice chirped over the line again:<em>"I'm back! So, I'll come in around eleven or eleven-thirty, how does that sound? Leroy has to help Happy deliver a TV but as soon as he gets back, he'll have the twins so I'll be free all day. So if you have to leave the library, I'll be there!"</em></p><p>Belle smiled again, in spite of the somewhat dizzying phone call. "That would be perfect Astrid, thank you. I really appreciate it."</p><p>
  <em>"No problem Belle. I mean it, we're happy to help with whatever you need right now. Running the library, grocery store trips, whatever. Okay?"</em>
</p><p>"I will, thank you Astrid. Go hide that can opener."</p><p>
  <em>"Hopefully Leroy already has...and hopefully not too well that I can't find it later. See you soon! Take care of yourself!"</em>
</p><hr/><p>The Storybrooke Public Library had very generous hours for a few reasons. A number of clubs met in the library, they offered free internet to members of the community, it gave the kids somewhere to stay after school on weekdays and somewhere to go on the weekends if they were so inclined. Today being Thursday, the doors unlocked at nine o'clock, exactly, and would stay open until ten o'clock at night.</p><p>Archie was glad that it opened up early because the library was on his way to the office. And in his hands, today, he held a book that was nearly a week overdue. Belle didn't get combative about such things and rarely charged outrageous fees, but still.</p><p>On a personal level, Archie felt guilty about forgetting to return his library books. Maybe someone else had wanted to read <em>The Sawbones Book: The Hilarious, Horrifying Road To Modern Medicine</em> the day it should have been returned, but they couldn't, because Archie had set a teacup and saucer on top of it. And forgotten both, right there on his home office desk, for almost a week until he got the cup and saucer to the sink. Along with the other two hiding around his office. He really needed to work on that...</p><p>But back to the matter at hand.</p><p>When Archie entered the library, he found Belle sitting at the circulation desk. She looked up, away from the computer screen, when she noticed a visitor. "Good morning, Archie."</p><p>"Morning Belle. Um, I brought this back."</p><p>"Ah, thank you very much!" Belle grinned, taking back the pale green book and setting it aside on her desk. "Did you like it?"</p><p>"Oh it was exactly what it says on the cover. Hilarious. And horrifying."</p><p>"I know, I skimmed over it when I ordered it," she wrinkled up her nose. "I suppose we're lucky to be cursed to the time period we're in. Victorian medicine sounds a bit...barbaric."</p><p>Archie nodded, hooking his umbrella over his arm, leaving both hands to fidget on the taller visitor's side of the counter. Almost as if she read his mind, the <em>other</em> reason he was here, Belle's blue eyes scanned over him warily.</p><p>There was a lot of after-effects to a suicide, or a suicide attempt. Friends and family went in to shock, became hurt or angry, blamed themselves for things beyond their control. Belle had a habit of putting too much pressure on herself already, and in a way, she was very protective of Mr. Gold. In a way only people with a long-term, emotional connection were. There was, of course, someone else involved as well.</p><p>"How's Oliver doing?"</p><p>Belle bit her lip, her eyes turning upwards towards the ceiling. Oliver might have gotten the day off from school, all things considered. Good. "He's...he's waiting. He wants to see Rumple, but I'm waiting on Henry to call. To see if, you know, if he can come visit today, or if we have to wait for him to be discharged, when he's home....so actually if <em>you</em> could get to the hospital after this, I'll know where we stand."</p><p>Archie didn't have the appointment scheduled until eleven, he had quite a bit of time despite Belle's attempt to make light of it. Hopefully it was enough. Belle was...stubborn.</p><p>"Is he still having trouble in school, too?" Archie played a somewhat uncle-ish role in Garrick's family dynamic, much different than trying to keep his wooden father on the straight and narrow. Tink also had a bit of a short-fuse for hypocrisy after being banished to Neverland, so...Archie heard all about the recent mismanagement of the fourth grade class over Sunday dinners. Whether he wanted to or not.</p><p>Belle began twisting her fingers together, biting her lower lip. "I...know Snow thinks moving him up would help. He'd be away from the bullies he knows, at least, but...he wouldn't have his friends anymore, and he's the smallest boy in the fourth grade. I don't want to uproot him to a strange place, I don't even know who the fifth grade teacher I-What if they're worse than Snow about impartiality?"</p><p>She gave a deep sigh, pressing her hands flat on the desk suddenly, lifting her eyes up to meet his. "But he's...he's not happy, where he is, and I don't know what to do or say that will help. Do you think...can you...can you listen to him? He really needs someone to talk to and I don't-Sometimes I think he doesn't want to tell me everything."</p><p>"Give me a call after you work things out with Henry. We'll figure out a time that works for you."</p><p>Belle nodded, but Archie was hoping it wasn't too...well...<em>Rumpelstiltskin</em> of him to clear time for both Oliver and Belle. So far she had managed to avoid all Archie's offers of open doors and counselling expertise over the years, and not for lack of his trying. He wouldn't be so bold as to try pinning Belle down for a full and in-depth series of appointments just yet, but if he could just get her to unload a little bit of whatever she kept bottled up in her head...</p><p>It might do her some good.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>YEAH BELLE, SEE THE THERAPIST! *ahem*</p><p>A quick literary note: Archie's book is real and something my sister checked out at the library before the whole world went crazy. If you like useless/horrifying medical trivia, this is the book for you!</p><p>(Additional note: I was introduced to Frog and Toad via a Claymation series my family had on VHS tape for some reason, which is wholesome as fuck, and the bit about cookies and willpower is my favorite one!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. In Which Gold Takes A First Step</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*tap dances in* I am not a mental health professional, which is why the hospital appointment is from Rumple's POV. If discussing the thought process that led him here freaks you out, you can skip to the end-notes for a recap. *shimmies away*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Punctual as ever, Archie showed up at eleven and Henry made himself scarce to give his grandfather privacy to bare his soul.</p><p>Henry took his messenger bag out of the room with him. Nobody said anything because it wasn't too weird, Henry took the thing with him everywhere. It had a notebook, pens, (normal ones,) pencils, sometimes a book, he'd remembered a phone charger today. And some stuff like a firestarter, and a little first-aid kit, in case he fell down a portal to another realm.</p><p>It might seem a little paranoid, but Henry knew he wasn't the only one to think of stuff like that. Things had been quiet for years now, but nobody was ready to forget Peter Pan's attempted curse, Dark One ghost things, Camelot, the fire-breathing dragonflies, or the time Isaac Heller wrote the whole population in to a grimdark fanfiction. True, most curses of that nature would strip him of his belongings, but it was still best to be as prepared as possible.</p><p>Heller was now sulking in the basement across from Albert Spencer in a jail cell. Supposedly he spent his time writing fiction down there, but Henry never felt inclined to ask about it seriously.</p><p>At the moment, he had other things to read.</p><p>They had been right there, on the dresser beside the charging cellphone. Three plain white envelopes. Marked with black ink. All three bearing with names, in the swirling, spiderwebby cursive that was Rumpelstiltskin's handwriting. One manila envelope, the same handwriting and black ink, but without a name. That one was the most unsettling and it was still sitting at home on the dresser.</p><p>Henry had an ugly, sneaking suspicion about what they were, and had stuffed all three in to his bag. It felt dangerous to just leave them out. Like leaving loaded guns out.</p><p>It <em>was</em> a loaded gun, of a sort.</p><p>Henry had planned to ask about them. He wasn't sure how to do it, though, and...he also didn't want to. Gold had given him a few guilty looks like he was expecting to be asked, too. Maybe he'd toss them in one of the hospital trash cans and forget about it. Maybe it was best to let it go unmentioned. Maybe it would be for the best to pretend...</p><p>Henry ripped his open.</p><p>He had a hard time reading Gold's handwriting in the shop, sometimes. His scrawl got very <em>scrawly</em> when he was writing fast or absently, like making inventory notes or writing up a receipt. However, when he had all the time in the world, Gold's chicken scratch became a regal, perfectly legible example of penmanship even with the little curlicues and flourishes attached.</p><p>It did not bode well that his writing was the latter. Measured, concise. Planned.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Henry...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You were always a bright, curious child. I'm glad I got to know the thoughtful, curious man you've grown in to. Sometimes you remind me so much of your father that it hurts, I would like to say you get your propensity for good sense from my side of the family. But I assure that you that your ability to use reason and compassion is entirely your own talent, one I am proud to have witness time and again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You've done all you could possibly do for me, more than anyone expected. More than I expected. You're a good man Henry. A better man than I ever was. This is no failing of yours. I am very tired. More than tired, for longer than I care to think of, perhaps even longer than I care to admit. I was a villain, for whatever changes I have made I cannot change the past. And villains, past or present, don't get happy endings. It's a fact I'm too tired to fight anymore.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don't expect you to understand. I pray you don't actually, and that you never have to. But I hope you do understand it isn't your fault. Take care of yourself Henry, you've a future full of possibilities ahead of you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Best hopes for you,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Your grandfather.</em>
</p><p>Henry came to the end more suddenly than he was expecting. Not that he was expecting it to be long. Or short. Actually he wasn't sure what he was expecting at all.</p><p>It occurred to him, then, that it didn't matter that Gold had second thoughts. He'd still planned everything out. He'd been committed in his head, even if his heart might not fully be in the idea of ending it. Henry sat down on a nearby bench.</p><p>Which he probably should have done before opening a suicide note in the first place...</p><hr/><p>Thursday mornings at the library rarely saw much foot traffic. But four or five people had come in after Archie, and they all seemed to be watching Belle <em>carefully</em>.</p><p>Sometimes, Belle really wondered if coming back to Storybrooke to have Oliver had been her best idea. Rumple had managed to wake her with the Sands of Morpheus, (something about sand that induced sleeping cancelling the effects of a sleeping curse, she'd been a little too annoyed to be curious,) and she'd demanded to be brought home because...well because she couldn't think of where else to go.</p><p>Rumple could have comfortably set her up anywhere in the world if she wished it, with Merlin's wand he could set her up in any <em>world</em> she wished, too. But she'd picked Storybrooke.</p><p>It wasn't because her father lived here. (Who she had not heard from since she hung up on him, he was probably waiting on her to call him.) Admittedly her friends did mostly live in Storybrooke. And...so did Rumple.</p><p>Maybe she should have gone to Dunbroch. Merida would have probably found her a nice corner of her castle to raise her son in, and Belle could be some sort of archivist or something academic. Just because the clans of Dunbroch had seemed to enjoy small-scale wars like a social event didn't mean they didn't have records or need of literacy. Only she would have been surrounded by people with accents like Rumple...</p><p>Maybe she could have visited Anna in Arendelle. Or...done a lot of things differently, in general.</p><p>Belle kept pushing these thoughts aside. And now, she had to help Astrid before she burned herself getting in through the door.</p><p>She had a tote thrown over her shoulder, and her oven-mitted hands were occupied with a covered pot. A very hot pot, Belle surmised from the mitts, and full of something she suspected was meant for her and Oliver to eat. Something that Astrid nearly dropped before setting it briefly down on the circulation desk to allow Belle to take the equally suspicious tote off her arm.</p><p>Opal <em>had</em> agreed to let the matter of lunch drop suspiciously on the phone. She had probably mouthed something or given a thumbs-up to her mother, without minding Belle's insistence that it wasn't necessary. Or, just as likely, Astrid had forged ahead with her good intentions regardless.</p><p>Either way, the pot was full of tomato soup.</p><p>Neither Leroy nor Astrid were particularly brilliant cooks. In fact, Leroy's limited skills were based in canned goods, frozen foods, and a number of ways to cook meat and eggs in a skillet. That had been their foundation before Astrid started taking cookbooks home with her. But, Leroy did make a very impressive grilled cheese sandwich, of which there were two wrapped in warm foil and stashed in a plastic container in Astrid's tote bag, and a larger container of chocolate chip cookies.</p><p>"Oh, Astrid, you didn't have to do this-"</p><p>"I said I was bringing you lunch, so, here's lunch!" she patted Belle's kitchen table, where everything had been unpacked. "The boys helped with the cookies so they're a little...homey."</p><p>Homey was a synonym for "oversized and broken-up", but Belle couldn't possible be offended by this. Astrid was an incredibly sweet person, her whole family was. A pot of soup, crumbled cookies, and two cheese sandwiches were a little and a lot, all at once.</p><p>Oliver had grabbed a piece of cookie and popped it in to his mouth. "Taste fine to me. Thank you Miss Astrid."</p><p>There was a very short list of people Oliver would allow to draw him in to hugs without grumbling, and Astrid was very high on that list. "You're very welcome," she smiled. "You enjoy, and you make sure your mother eats hers."</p><p>Because her son happened to adore grilled cheese and tomato soup, (which didn't surprise Belle because she'd had a <em>fierce</em> craving for them in her second trimester,) he wasted no time in grabbing bowls and spoons and plates. Belle walked Astrid back down to the library, aware she would be shooed back upstairs shortly. Everyone knew she didn't have an appetite when she was under pressure, and so, when she was under pressure everyone urged her to eat.</p><p>"How are you doing?" Astrid asked. "Has there been any other news?"</p><p>"Not yet." Belle patted her phone, sitting silently in her pocket. "I'm still waiting. It shouldn't be much longer, Archie has an appointment with him before lunch. He stopped by just after I opened, Archie. He offered to let Oliver talk to him about...this, and school."</p><p>"Just Oliver?"</p><p>Belle <em>was</em> upset. Yes. She didn't understand how Rumple came to this...decision. Not at all. But she still didn't see why <em>she</em> needed an appointment with Archie. It just seemed...unnecessary. She could sort through her feelings on the matter later.</p><p>"I still need to wait for Henry to find out how things are going there," she said, changing the subject slightly. "I'll let you know what the plan is, when I have one."</p><p>"Alright then. Remember, if you do have to go, go. I can handle the library. You just worry about your people."</p><p>Astrid came in for a hug, then. And Belle smiled against the cardigan-covered shoulder, even though a lump was welling up in her throat. Belle had not cried yet, although she was aware no one could blame her if she did. She wasn't entirely sure why this was the moment she wanted to start because this was a moment she should have felt safer. She had lunch and her son waiting upstairs, and a friend offering support in front of her.</p><p>She was fine right now.</p><p>"I know," she stepped back, clearing her tight throat and managing to banish the sting from her eyes. "And thank you for lunch."</p><hr/><p>Rumpelstiltskin did not want to have this conversation.</p><p>He knew that he needed to have this conversation. He knew that he wasn't likely to leave this hospital without this conversation. He knew Dr. Hopper was here expressly for this conversation. But he <em>did not want</em> to have this conversation.</p><p>Dr. Hopper was fortunate to have a countenance as wholesome as warm pie. Even sitting in a chair with a notepad, ready to take notes on whatever Rumpelstiltskin would say for later study, he radiated nonthreatening honesty. And patience. Lots of patience. The silence between them that stretched on for long seconds was untouched by Dr. Hopper, the man giving no indication he was going to break it after asking the question: "Have you had any more suicidal thoughts since you were admitted?"</p><p>He didn't want to talk about this.</p><p>"No...at the risk of sounding trite, it was a mistake."</p><p>Dr. Hopper tilted his head slightly aside. "Why would that sound trite?"</p><p>The former cricket's job was to listen to often erroneous thought processes. There was no "wrong" thing to say in a session, and no use guessing what the good doctor wanted to hear. No need to guard tongues or mince words. Honesty was encouraged.</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin needed to be reminded of that on occasion.</p><p>"I have every reason to be well." He muttered. "But I don't...feel it, and it's...I've got the bad foot but I can live with that, but I'm healthy. But I don't <em>feel</em> well. My grandson has to look after me and I'm afraid of leaving the house for fear of some random citizen deciding to take revenge for a slight, or worse, something I've actually done to them. I'm..."</p><p>His teeth locked together, tight. His mouth refused to make the admission anymore than his brain for a moment. It took a concentrated effort to inhale, relax his jaw, and spit it out:</p><p>"I am the Dark One. I've always been the Dark One, for over three centuries, and it's wrong, I know it is, but if I'm not the Dark One then I must be a crippled spinner. And that man is...weak. Worthless."</p><p>Dr. Hopper had the good sense not to heap condescending phrases like "no one is worthless" or "everyone is special" on him. Once, the good doctor had explained that positive affirmations applied to a person in a negative frame of mind can actually worsen their state by forcing positivity on them. Rumpelstiltskin had never appreciated the cricket's ability play mind games until he'd become his patient. It was impressive.</p><p>Instead of trying to talk him in to thinking better of himself, Dr. Hopper tilted his head further aside. "And that's why you took back the Dark One powers when an opportunity presented itself, the first time."</p><p>Not a question. Because they'd hashed all this out years ago, before this...backslide.</p><p>And it was true. A fear of dying at fucking Killian Jones' petty, singular hand and never seeing Belle for all he'd talked her in to leaving town so she would be safe. He honestly didn't expect her to return, why should she? It would have been better for both of them if she hadn't, or perhaps had waited twenty-four hours longer.</p><p>As much as Rumpelstiltskin loved Oliver, perhaps if he hadn't been conceived during a hasty reunion built on relief and lies by omission, the lad might've stood a better chance at having united, loving parents if he'd come along just a little later.</p><p>Or perhaps he never would have come along at all and Belle would be hap-</p><p>
  <em>Stop.</em>
</p><p>"Would you call it an identity crisis, when you don't know who you are without the powers of a cursed entity corrupting your character?" Rumpelstiltskin asked. He half-hoped Dr. Hopper had an answer for that, half-expected a mild rebuttal.</p><p>He was shocked when Dr. Hopper hummed, thoughtfully.</p><p>"An identity crisis is really characterized by an insecurity in one's position or role in society. Frankly, you're consistently more concerned with your worth rather than your position. Do you understand the difference?"</p><p>"An existential crisis, then?"</p><p>Dr. Hopper didn't say anything that time. He was waiting. The damned cricket and his mind games.</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin sighed, weighing worth versus position. Alright. Worth was his usefulness to society, or his family. His ability to provide support, or to participate in things, what people thought of him. Position was just where he fit in, which he was uncertain about, but if he thought about it in the terms Dr. Hopper just suggested...</p><p>"Worth matters more to me. Position only matters to me if it helps the people I need to protect, people who...value me." Rumpelstiltskin glared out the window. "Which is a bit difficult when I put up walls and push them away. I know."</p><p>Dr. Hopper smiled. Only slightly more amused than could be considered professional. "You would be correct. Now, you understand you've been through a traumatic event recently. It's normal for you to experience a certain...regression, in to bad habits. You've never mentioned suicidal thoughts before, was this a new occurrence?"</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin found his finger was bare when he tried to fidget with his moonstone ring. He'd passed it off to Henry when he was admitted, along with his cane, not wanting it to get lost in the shuffle. He had to get it back eventually.</p><p>"The idea of...things stopping, isn't new to me. I've had thoughts like that before, when I was, am, overwhelmed." He found himself pinching the pale band of skin usually covered by his ring. "I don't really want to die I just...don't want to live in those moments. Exist in them, face them, whatever."</p><p>"How do you normally deal with those thoughts?"</p><p>"I...find a distraction, until I forget what overwhelmed me." There were no wrong things to say, but Rumpelstiltskin felt humiliation burning through his chest at his answer all the same. He could hear Milah screeching about his cowardice, his father comparing him to a parasite, cruel little ghosts shrieking in his ears.</p><p>"Like your knitting projects?" Dr. Hopper asked.</p><p>They had discussed his old hobby of spinning to forget, going comatose while watching the wheel spin for hours. Being locked in a tiny cage with nothing but a wheel and his son's presence scrambling his brains had soured the experience, so he'd had to find a substitute to while away his insomnia. Knitting had filled the void neatly enough.</p><p>(There was a pleasant irony in purchasing handspun wool from the small community of local spinners in Storybrooke, too, when he'd once been a humble spinner himself.)</p><p>Unfortunately, needlework was not quite the distraction the good doctor might be thinking of.</p><p>"Traditionally? Schemes were my distraction." He confessed, looking down at his twisting hands. "Before I was the Dark One I suppose I just worked harder, tried to direct my energy in to something that might earn a bit of coin. Afterwards though, I made plans that would give me an advantage, things that might put me in a better position to find my son, then things to get the Dark Curse cast, things to gain more power...and so on."</p><p>Dr. Hopper gave a very professional nod that betrayed no personal feelings on that front. Rumpelstiltskin had felt extremely awkward with the amount of candor Dr. Hopper expected, considering...oh, <em>everything</em>. He'd handed the man a potion that had ruined a family's life in person for god's sake, just because he had a flash of foresight that if the tall, awkward redhead could be separated from his parents, he might be useful in the future.</p><p>He did not miss foresight one bit. Visions were unpredictable, and trying to fulfill prophecies ahead of time caused them to come true in unpleasant ways.</p><p>The understanding nod of Dr. Hopper drew his attention back to the room. "I see. So given your physical limitations when the curse was removed, and the isolation in your house, you were left overwhelmed and without an outlet."</p><p>Uncomfortably warm shame and cold, chilling suspicion pooled together in a numbing wash. Rumpelstiltskin felt it ripple over him from head to toe, settling heavy in his throat.</p><p>"I had one."</p><p>Dr. Hopper gave another of those stunningly judgement-free nods, wrought with understanding and damnable patience. "Suicidal thoughts and ideations can offer an illusion of comfort in a spiral. To someone who feels they've lost all control and value, it feels deceptively like a reasonable choice."</p><p>No "you were lucky" or "now you have a second chance" came out of his mouth. Out of Rumpelstiltskin's own, however, came a thin-sounding protest against the taunting jeer of bullies he'd long outlived but never forgotten.</p><p>"I don't want to die."</p><p>For as much internal shit as he gave the former cricket for his wholesome, professional face, Dr. Hopper was truly a rock of sensibility in a churning stream. His expression did not change, not a twitch of his mouth of a crease upon his brow.</p><p>"All things considered, three years of therapy against three centuries of bad habits is a drop in the bucket," he confessed. "But a regression in those habits isn't an outright failure, nor is attempting suicide. It's not an easy path you're taking but it is one that doesn't fall apart because of one mistake, as long as you're honest about your concerns in our sessions so we can properly address your needs."</p><p>Honesty was, as ever, Rumpelstiltskin's greatest failing. Honesty and trust. Doctor-patient confidentiality secured his trust in Dr. Hopper, but honesty...that was a trick he'd yet to master for all this supposed progress he'd made. But he owed it to a number of people to try again.</p><p>Time to climb back up the cliff.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The therapy goes: Rumple admits he's had a feeling of wishing things would just stop before, not necessarily in death, but when he needs a break from being overwhelmed. His usual coping mechanism is to find a distraction, in the Enchanted Forest it was experimenting with deals of manipulating a future for the curse to be cast. His lack of a proper outlet led to a spiral that brought him to this position, because as Archie says, the option of taking his own life was appealing because it made him feel in control. Rumple protests he doesn't want to die, Archie assures him that even a serious mistake doesn't mean he can't recover his mental health, and Rumple is ready to try again.</p><p>I totally didn't make my heart hurt with this one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. In Which There Are Questions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I don't know if the Storybrooke police department could be a trigger for anybody. But, *glances at the trash fire that is current events in America,* if you want to just skip David's POV because reasons, that is an option and a recap will be in the footnotes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>David supposed the only people in Storybrooke who hadn't heard Mr. Gold was in the hospital lived under rocks. And even then, the dwarves might fill them in by the end of the day.</p><p>Now what those people did with that information was something else entirely. David, for example, was staying out of it.</p><p>He had texted Henry and asked if he wanted him to bring lunch by, since he was stopping at Granny's for the office it wouldn't be any trouble. David doubted Gold would want visitors but that didn't mean he couldn't drop their mutual grandson a sandwich, or perhaps a sandwich for both of them. But Henry had declined, saying he'd already purchased lunch from the cafeteria.</p><p>A smart choice. When Snow had Ruth, she'd gotten a plate of spaghetti with watery sort-of-meat sauce and, for some baffling reason, a glass of grape juice for lunch. Lesson learned, David made the trek to the cafeteria for meals after that.</p><p>(Still, compared to a curse barrelling down on top of them with one child and a witch trying to kidnap their second, unappealing lunch trays for their third was tolerable.)</p><p>David and Snow had talked about what they should do last night, while she'd been up grading math tests. Admittedly most of their concerns were for their grandson, who was more or less Gold's caretaker, though David wasn't sure how...much care, Gold needed. He always felt awkward if he tried to ask. And a bit guilty.</p><p>Maybe if they hadn't been so complacent about clearing Gold's name, things might be less like they were. But David had just sort of...forgotten about it. And Gold had been in tougher spots, he reasoned sometimes, than having the town grumbling about his presence. Someone was always grumbling about him, after all. David thought, as did most of the people involved in the plan, that the grumbling about Gold would die down now that the real culprit was safely locked away.</p><p>Or...he'd <em>expected</em> it to happen, but didn't make any moves to <em>ensure</em> it would happen.</p><p>There had finally been an official announcement in December, at Henry's insistence after someone slashed the tires of the Cadillac in the driveway. No one could touch the house, Regina and Emma had combined magic to set up wards around the place, under the guise of keeping Gold in when they were really keeping everyone out.</p><p>After the announcement, Gold started seeing Archie. That was when guilt started rearing its ugly head.</p><p>A few years ago, Belle had mentioned that Gold was starting therapy. It had been after that last big-Well, the big falling out they'd had before the Black Cauldron, that is. Gold had a spellbook in his nightstand which triggered a big fight, Belle accusing him of being up to something and Gold accusing her of looking for a fight. Not a soul in town wanted to get in the middle of it, but it was easier to side with the wife over the husband because...he was <em>Gold</em>.</p><p>David really had to stop thinking like that. Especially if the man was stripped of all his powers and traumatized enough to...do this.</p><p>It would be easy to point fingers and shift the blame and deny, deny, deny. But David knew the sheriff's office had bungled the whole thing from the start, and that was where the trouble began.</p><p>(If you overlooked Zelena's big fat role in everything...)</p><p>When pressed, Emma had admitted she and Killian had only found Gold unconscious, face-down, in the cemetary near the cooling Black Cauldron. She <em>had</em> looked around, a little. But having only one hand, Killian had needed her help to drag Gold to the bug, and it had seemed more important at the time to secure the Dark One than investigate the crime scene. Then she had gotten held up at the hospital, checking in with Henry and Regina and so on, so that it was dark by the time anyone could have given the scene a good going-over.</p><p>She'd had the good sense to call David on their way to the hospital with their prisoner, and they'd sent the dwarves out to move the suspicious-looking cauldron to the station. He wondered what would have happened to it if they hadn't...</p><p>Killian, however, refused to acknowledge any bungling on his part. (He never did.) He claimed he'd acted on his best instincts. David would have let it slide, but the "instinct" had also had Killian running up and down the halls telling anybody who would listen that he'd caught Gold red-handed in the act before an investigation had even begun.</p><p>Thank gods Gold had hurt his hands.</p><p>He must have grabbed the rough rim of the cauldron, earning a mild burn and a painful scrape. It had still be warm when the dwarves moved it and Sneezy had to double back to the hospital for a tetanus shot when he scraped his hand. It must have been after Belle came and went, but later that day David had escorted a nurse inside to clean Gold's hands up and question him.</p><p>Killian could have done it, but David...well there were certain jobs David didn't trust the man with. Anything involving "the crocodile" was one example. But it quickly became apparent that something was very wrong.</p><p>Gold was listlessly leaning against the wall, his eyes were glazed over and he was slow to respond. His limbs were boneless when the nurse lift his hand to clean it, and she'd yelped at how cold they were and started checking him over for shock. His pupils were wide and ragged, his skin pale and clammy. The nurse demanded to know if Gold had been stabbed or wounded because he was acting like he'd lost a lot of blood very quickly.</p><p>Dr. Whale was sent for, and when he couldn't find a good medical reason, and when Gold was too disoriented to answer questions, Regina was pulled from Robbi's bedside to see if there was a magical reason.</p><p>The Dark One, the curse itself, was no more.</p><p>Regina had immediately left to investigate the cauldron. A quick magical scan showed that whatever traces the Darkness remained were stuck in the basin, along with wisps of someone else's magic. Someone entirely new.</p><p>When Gold had been roused enough to get the story out of him, David felt like someone turned the lights on to reveal just how big the mess was. The only way to stop the Black Cauldron was to offer a second sacrifice, which was what Gold had done with his curse. Someone <em>else</em> had left the cauldron running when he got there. He'd just turned it off. And he'd blacked out immediately after, because he'd felt like his heart had given out again from the force of the curse being ripped out.</p><p>It was dark by then, and with boot-prints in the ground from hauling the cauldron off, there was no visible evidence at the scene. Looking for witnesses was impossible, because of Killian's blabbermouth. There was a boiling mob-mentality to "get" Gold for the suffering of the people attacked by the wraiths, so Henry whisked him home and the "house arrest" story was conceived and the wards went up for his safety.</p><p>Zelena probably would have gone unnoticed. She was unpleasant, unlikeable really, but she hadn't done anything <em>wicked</em> since Robin had died. (Which really only served to make her <em>more</em> unpopular, in a way, because former flying monkeys and their families did not forget.) She spent the immediate aftermath fussing over Robbi, but Regina had sat with her niece alone in the hospital for a few minutes.</p><p>That was the first time she'd heard of Zelena's "trip" she'd been planning to take Robbi on.</p><p>It was a lucky break. Pure chance. Without that, they never would have figured out who had the cauldron in the first place and they never would have captured Zelena before she tried again. Because they had caught her taking the Black Cauldron to use it again. Maleficent had taken the cauldron out to a field and used a white-hot jet of dragonfire to reduce it to crumbling scraps, but David still wasn't comfortable with the amount of luck they'd needed to solve the case.</p><p>Because Zelena loved to talk about herself, the whole story came out very quickly after that: The graveyard caretaker had been the sacrifice to start the cauldron. The missing old widow, Mrs. Moby, had been in possession of the Black Cauldron. Zelena said the witch had come from the Land of Oz and was an admirer of her days as the ruler of Oz, and wanted to help her take over Storybrooke. Only Zelena planned to use the cauldron as a distraction, steal the Silver Slippers from Regina's vault, and then take off with Robbi to let Mrs. Moby take the blame.</p><p>Her name wasn't really Mrs. Moby, but Zelena couldn't remember what it really was. She didn't care, either. Zelena's was the only word they had to go on, untrustworthy as it was, and since it had taken them up to a month to know who they were looking for...</p><p>Mrs. Moby's tiny apartment was fairly neat. Nothing appeared to be missing, but nobody knew Mrs. Moby very well. She did odd jobs cooking and cleaning around town but she wasn't very friendly. No one had seen her since the Black Cauldron happened, and she would have helped Zelena escape by now if she was the minion that she was described as. The only other option, besides Zelena had killed her and just wasn't talking about it, was that she'd escaped.</p><p>And they had no idea where Mrs. Moby could escape to.</p><p>Or how.</p><p>The one time David dared to visit Gold at his house and ask for his insight, he'd recieved a baleful look in return. And a clipped, "If I knew I wouldn't be here, would I?"</p><p>David didn't go back to the house after that. He got the distinct impression that Rumpelstiltskin would no longer be offering deals, trades, or advice in the future, and it was their fault.</p><p>Sometimes though...David did wonder why Gold was still here. He had a fortune and no magic, he could easily build a new life outside of Storybrooke where <em>Rumpelstiltskin</em> was just a funny name in a fairytale. Of course, Belle had built her life here, and without a magical aid, Gold couldn't come back through once he left. And he wouldn't leave his son behind.</p><p>David weighed all this in his mind while he was picking up lunch at Granny's Diner. There was a long line, the lunch hour entering its peak, and he had the time to do it.</p><p>Belle was a victim in all of this, too, in a different way. She'd gotten suspicious of the house-arrest story and wrangled the truth out of Snow, and turned so white that Snow had been afraid she'd pass out right there. She'd kept the secret long enough to catch Zelena, in the end, but at the cost of souring her relationship with Oliver. The boy loved his father, with a fierce loyalty, and hadn't been pleased to have him framed and left to fend for himself. No more than he'd been pleased his mother lied to him for over a month.</p><p>(Maybe the kid had more than a right to lash out at school...)</p><p>The part of David's brain that had been eager to solve the mystery and protect the masses from another incident had ignored it. The part of David's brain that saw people in distress and wanted to lend a hand had been...disturbed, by how things were panning out weeks after it should have been settled.</p><p>How much, exactly, had been necessary, and how much had been caused by carelessness?</p>
<hr/><p>Archie was finishing up, scheduling a Monday appointment, when Henry checked back in with lunch.</p><p>One box of chicken fingers, (Henry was an adult dammit, he could eat what he wanted,) and one box holding a steaming hamburger, both with fries and bottled drinks, and some small slices of poundcake wrapped in cellophane. Henry wasn't expecting Gold to finish the whole hamburger, because he hadn't been able to finish the last of the four triangles of his fluffy French toast that morning either. But he still had some measure of appetite, so that was promising.</p><p>It was on Regina's list of Important Mayor Things to relocate the prisoners to a secure location away from the hospital. The trouble was they weren't sure where would be secure enough, so it hadn't happened yet, and a small, empty office building nearby had been remodeled for the mental health ward instead.</p><p>But, Archie said, Gold didn't need to be admitted there for treatment unless he wanted to be. Gold had declined and Henry found himself thinking back on those damned letters.</p><p>He worked through the difficult question while working through his chicken and fries after Archie left. The handful of ketchup packets he'd grabbed were too small, four made a decent puddle of sauce to dip his tenders and fries in. Of course, ketchup made Henry think of the other elephant in the room. Or rather, outside of it, waiting to come in.</p><p>"So..." he licked the salt off his fingers.</p><p>Gold had to use two packets to put the ketchup on his hamburger. Henry had brought him a robe and pajamas from home to wear until he was discharged, because the man didn't own casual clothes. "So?"</p><p>Henry thought about which topic to bring up first. "So...Oliver wants to see you. I know you didn't want to face Belle right now, but...you know. What about him?"</p><p>Gold hesitated, setting the burger down on the container it had been transported in. He wiped his hands on a paper napkin carefully.</p><p>"He knows what happened, and he's been asking about you." Henry twirled one of the last fries between his fingers. "Belle...respected that you didn't want her to, you know, visit, but if you're open to it she'll bring Oliver down here to see you. Or when you get home. Or whatever."</p><p>Gold nodded in a wooden fashion. "I see..."</p><p>Henry waited.</p><p>Gold stared down at the remains of his lunch. Violet said that Henry had a resemblance to both sides of his family, blurred enough that he could blend in with either unless someone was looking closely. Henry thought the shape of his mouth, nose, and eyes, if not the color, he got from his paternal family. Violet also said the concentrated look Gold got when he was working was the same as the one Henry got when he was writing.</p><p>That familiar look was on Gold's face now. He started fidgeting with his ring finger, making Henry aware he'd left the ring itself on Gold's dresser. By the will in the manila envelope.</p><p>"Um...while you're thinking...I have something else to ask you about." Henry dug around in his bag until he found the white envelopes. Gold went very, very still and blank-faced at those, but his eyes were locked on them like they were full of snakes. "What do you want to do with these?"</p><p>It was a different kind of quiet then, one that stretched tight between them. It was amazing how quiet a hospital room could be.</p><p>Gold pursed his lips. "You opened one."</p><p>"I did." No need to hide it. It was addressed to him, in a sealed envelope, of course Henry had opened it. And read it. He didn't cry about it, but it was a close thing. He was a little too overwhelmed by the dichotomy of reading a suicide note from a living person, who didn't plan on living until the last minute, to do much more than feel deeply puzzled.</p><p>"Give those here." Gold crooked a finger. Henry did automatically, before thinking to ask why. "I meant it. You're a good man. I don't recall everything word for word, I'm sure it was a lot of distressing about myself, but...you are a fine person Henry."</p><p>There was a thick lump in Henry's throat, keeping him from answering. He just nodded.</p><p>Gold looked down at the other two letters. He tapped them against his thigh so they were neatly stacked together and rubbed his thumb against the crisp corner. Belle's was on top. "I need you to do me a favor, if I'm not released this afternoon," he said suddenly, looking up. Henry couldn't even begin to tell what he was thinking. "I need you to put the will in my safe. I made some adjustments to include Oliver, but the will itself isn't new, I had it made when I married Belle in case something happened. It should be locked up if it isn't needed."</p><p>"Okay..."</p><p>"And," a warning finger was raised, before it pointed down at the letters, "don't tell anyone about these."</p><p>Henry frowned at that. "Shouldn't they know about them? Look. Not to guilt you or anything, but literally the only explanations you were going to give were in those letters, to three people, who I suppose you made the beneficiaries of your will. That's...kinda crappy."</p><p>Call it familiarity, call it a more adult awareness, even call it an empathic version of Emma's "superpower" she used to brag about. But Henry was aware of Gold's tells, not that there were many. He turned his head slightly, let his eyes flick away, as if consulting some writing on the floor or wall just out the corner of his eye, then came back to Henry's own eyes. It was quick. But he'd just run through all the possibilities on hand and made a choice from one of them.</p><p>"I won't deny that. But I'm not dead." Gold shrugged. "And if I'm <em>not</em> dead, then they deserve to hear these things in person."</p>
<hr/><p>Oliver kept sneaking bites of crumbled cookies as the afternoon wore on. That was really the highlight of things.</p><p>They of course didn't taste quite like the kind you made off the chocolate chip package, making Oliver suspect it was premade dough. Like the kind you weren't supposed to eat raw or whatever, but was so conveniently in those little bite-sized cubes. The dough was almost better than cookies themselves sometimes.</p><p>Cookies aside, the soup Miss Astrid brought and the grilled cheeses were both good, and very nice of her to do. Mama had done that weird thing she did when she was stressed out and eating a sandwich, ripping it in to little pieces like she was going to feed a bird and putting each piece in her mouth. But she had ate it, even if she hadn't touched the soup.</p><p>Oliver ate both. He saved the crusts to sop up the bits of soup that stuck to the bowl, instead of licking it. Papa had taught him that.</p><p>Papa was still alive.</p><p>Oliver had to keep reminding himself that. Because as far as he knew, suicide was kind of...goal-oriented. Mama hadn't said the word yet. But if Papa had taken an intentional amount of pills, too many of them, then that <em>was</em> the word for it.</p><p>It even sounded ugly. Nothing good came from -cide words, they were all kill-related.</p><p>Homocide, insecticide, germacide. Blech.</p><p>When he was done picking for the cookie bits with the most chocolate chips, Oliver retreated to his room to read something less...-cidal. There was a distinct lack of reason for there to be -cides when yarn was involved.</p><p>He wasn't supposed to take books from the library without checking them out, it would throw off the system or something. But there wasn't a mad demand for even the most well-known instructional knitting book in their stock, Knitting for Dummies, so...Oliver had helped himself.</p><p>Papa was most famous for being a spinner, but Oliver had never seen him use the wheel shoved aside in his shop under a dropcloth. To him, his papa was a knitter.</p><p>Oliver had been meaning to ask his father to show him how to knit. He was always interested in all the different textures you could make from from the different stitches, and there was a rainbow of yarn to work with. Papa made scarves, hats, blankets, all kinds of stuff. It was fascinating, all the different things he could make out of one material. If Oliver started learning now, he might be able to make something for his mother by Mother's Day...</p><p>Could he still ask his father to teach him, or was he going to have to learn from a book?</p><p>Hmm.</p><p>Maybe he should have taken that Pictoral History of the American Circus from downstairs. The circus didn't make him think of anybody in particular. He closed up Knitting for Dummies and set it aside. Then he flopped down on his back. And because he'd been sitting on the edge of the bed, of course he whacked his head on the wall.</p><p>"OW."</p><p>Oliver wriggled around gracelessly until he was stretched out on the bed, resting his sore head on the pillow. He was very glad that he wasn't at school today. Mama had mentioned talking to Archie, some time, about <em>everything</em>. Including school, how he felt about this, and anything else that was bothering him.</p><p>That was an uncomfortably broad topic. Oliver felt a little bothered just by the idea of it. Why did he always have to be the one to talk about his feelings?</p><p>There was something to be said for getting it all out of your head and in to the open. Garrick always rattled off whatever popped in to his head, and he was a big glass-half-full kind of person.</p><p>The problem Oliver had, had always had, was he couldn't shake the feeling nobody really wanted to hear him talk about the stuff that bothered him.</p><p>For example, except for maybe a few people, including his friends, nobody really cared how Oliver felt about having basically-divorced parents. Nobody cared that he was protective of Papa because hardly any one wanted to admit he was reformed. Nobody really cared that Oliver hated how Mama had to smile and be a doormat to keep a good standing with most people, and that they expected him to let them stomp their muddy feet all over him, too, if he wanted to be accepted. Nobody really cared if he told an adult when he was being bullied, because he wasn't a royal brat from a famously <em>good</em> family. Nobody really cared that Charmings and their people literally had gotten away with murder and were still considered <em>good</em>, while Papa couldn't even do something selfless without being called a monster and a coward and a villain and worse-</p><p>Oliver pawed around for his displaced ragdoll, drawing Bubs down to his chest.</p><p>Papa had made Bubs in the Enchanted Forest style, so he didn't really have features, but his blank cotton-white face was the only one Oliver really wanted right now. He had all the right limbs and was made to look like he was wearing a blue shirt, brown trousers, and little black boots with buttons for buckles. And he had a little jacket that could come off.</p><p>Oliver still dressed his doll up for different holidays in different jackets, even if these days Bubs just chilled out on the pillow after the bed was made. The doll had been mended many times, had a few stains that never washed out quite right, but Oliver couldn't imagine getting rid of him. He always packed him up in his bag when he went to stay at Papa's house.</p><p>Was he going to stay a weekend with Papa again?</p><p>This thought was starting to crack the dam Oliver had carefully built between himself and those thoughts over the last twenty-four hours. There was going to be a moment, soon, when everything could be divided between "before" and "after", and Oliver was terrified of what was going to change, and when.</p><p>So of course, that was when Mama knocked on the door.</p><p>"Oliver?"</p><p>He shoved the knitting book under his pillow and left Bubs to guard it as he rolled off the bed, just in time for Mama to poke her head in. "Yeah?"</p><p>"Henry's on the phone, he wants to talk about when your father's coming home."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>David POV: David offers to get Henry and/or Gold lunch from Granny's, the offer is declined. David starts musing that they bungled everything up: Emma was too busy helping Hook drag Gold to be locked up to investigate the scene, Hook was too eager to punish Gold and refuses to admit fault, David was too complacent in everything. The Black Cauldron was hauled away by the dwarves. David went to question Gold and found him extremely weak, making them realize his curse had been torn away. Regina finds someone else's magic attached to the Black Cauldron, then while sitting with Robbi hears that Zelena had planned to take them on a trip. While everyone assumes Gold is guilty the heroes wait to spring a trap on Zelena, which works, but they fail to clear Gold's name in the end and David feels the Charming family's carelessness helped to tip Gold over the edge but is unsure what to do about it.</p><p>This'll be the last exposition-heavy chapter for the foreseeable future. One day I will write a proper prequel to explain everything, but today is not that day. However, this does mean things start moving forward in the story...after I extract a few more of your reader-tears, at least...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. In Which There Are Tears</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There's gonna be a brief and unfortunate hiatus next week so I can get my RCIJ straightened out. Worry not, I promise there's some fluff to make up for the bit of a downer this is when we resume. Not that everything is a let down...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Henry had brought Rumpelstiltskin an undershirt, navy button-down, royal blue tie, pants, socks, and shoes to wear, and his black wool coat for when he was discharged. Sitting around in his pajamas to wait on doctors and talk to Archie was one thing, but leaving the hospital in them was another.</p><p>If only subconsciously, Henry appeared to understand Rumpelstiltskin's odd request. His mother was Regina, after all. Even when she and Rumpelstiltskin were at each other's throats looking for blood, he would admit she understood the importance of image. <em>Her</em> mother had probably taught her queens are the best dressed woman in any room, and never slouch. You were, at the end of the day, only as strong as your image to the average-minded person.</p><p>And Rumpelstiltskin was loathe to further the image that he was feeble. Or at least, not up to full strength. Yet.</p><p>Dr. Hopper had suggested, as a way to keep reminding himself that he was in recovery, to try adding <em>yet</em> to the end of his negative thoughts. He had a long way to go, it was unfair to measure his progress solely by things he couldn't do today. And so on.</p><p>Damn, sensible bastard...</p><p>There was another, more vain reason Rumpelstiltskin had moved out the bed to sit in one of the chairs, dressed almost like he'd only stopped in for an appointment. He didn't want his son to see him looking frail in one of those baggy hospital gowns.</p><p>It was, perhaps, a little selfish to want to see his son, even for this little bit. It, perhaps, would have been better to wait until tomorrow. He had undoubtedly given the boy a nasty shock, if he really did know what had happened as Henry had said. But selfish or not, bad choice of not...when Oliver padded inside the room, Rumpelstiltskin felt himself smile.</p><p>"Hey."</p><p>When their son had been little more than a babe, he'd started making this serious, almost grim expression when he was focusing on something puzzling. In a light mood, Belle had teased he got it from his father's side of the family teaching him that, because it was the same kind of thing Rumpelstiltskin and Henry apparently did when they were fixated on something.</p><p>Whether that was true or not, Oliver was considering something very carefully, a crease between his brows and his lips thinned. It was experience that made Rumpelstiltskin wait until the boy found the right words. To not interrupted his processing.</p><p>"You scared me."</p><p>It was a cross sort of accusation. And not undeserved. "I'm sorry..." Rumpelstiltskin searched for his own words, letting his eyes move over his son's pale, frowning face. "And I know that doesn't make it better, but I am."</p><p>Oliver had Belle's eyes. No one could deny he was Rumpelstiltskin's own blood. It was the shape of his face, the way his fingers had to fiddle when he was distracted. In his school uniform he looked just like Henry at that age, and there were times when he looked very much like Bae, too. But his eyes were entirely his mother's: Blue as the sky, and entirely too perceptive for his own good.</p><p>"You aren't going to...try again, right?"</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin took a deep breath. "I don't want to try again, no. I want to get better. I want to try."</p><p>Oliver gave a very faint nod.</p><p>Then he swooped forward, flinging his skinny arms around Rumpelstiltskin's shoulders. His chilly nose pressed against the side of his neck, and there came a pitiful little whimpering noise. Oh, his poor boy.</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin buried his face against Oliver's hair. "There now, I'm here, m'boy, I'm right here...I'm not going anywhere, I promise. I'm right here..."</p><p>Damp heat spilled against his neck then, and Rumpelstiltskin squeezed his own eyes shut. He was vaguely aware that Henry had slipped away. That was okay. At the moment, he needed a minute alone as much as Oliver did. He couldn't lose a second child, he'd always known that.</p><p>He'd just forgotten, for a little bit in the bleakness of things, that he couldn't abandon another one, either.</p>
<hr/><p>Henry had told them all about it when he'd called, and Belle put it on speakerphone so both she and Oliver could hear it at once.</p><p>Sometime around four, the doctor had said. Rumple had an appointment with Archie on Monday, and Henry had instructions to watch him like a hawk for signs of a relapse, but also for any unusual changes that might be complications that hadn't presented themselves during the twenty-four hour observation. Like nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, stomach cramps, confusion...any and all of these was cause to call the doctor.</p><p>So far, though, Rumple was in good health. Which was great.</p><p>And he was apparently up for a short visit from Oliver, since there was nothing to do but wait to leave. It sounded reasonable to Belle's ears, and Oliver hurried to get his coat and scarf and the like at the invitation. Henry had also added that if Belle wanted to visit, she could do it tomorrow, maybe, when Rumple was back at home.</p><p>Hospitals were not conducive to sound sleep. Rumple wanted to rest in his own bed tonight, before he saw anyone, which Belle could respect. Oliver would get dropped off at the library on their way home, so all she had to do was walk him to the hospital, and...</p><p>Well.</p><p>Belle wasn't sure what to do after that...in a number of ways.</p><p>She felt like such an <em>outsider</em>. Even if she'd sort of put herself in that position, it was still uncomfortable. Not that she knew how to help, either. She doubted Rumple wanted his estranged wife hovering over him while recovering from a suicidal episode, no, he needed people who were supportive of him. Understanding. She'd built up a poor record on that front in recent years.</p><p>So...</p><p>The walls of her apartment were starting to feel a bit snug, so Belle decided that while she was in town, she would pick up a few things at the pharmacy. A light errand would help her start facing the townsfolk and their inevitable probing, and it might help distract her from all this...uselessness, she felt.</p><p>She did so hate feeling useless.</p><p>Belle's list was very short. Shampoo for herself, tissues in case she or Oliver came down with that cold that was going around, smooth peanut butter, some cotton balls, and then she was standing in line and looking at the Valentine's Day display, wondering if she should buy her gifts now or come back later.</p><p>She gave some candy to Oliver and his friends, and kept a dish of candies on the desk for visitors to help themselves to instead of her usual bowl of Jolly Ranchers. She also picked up something for her friends, a treat or a fitting card. She wondered if there was some sort of "I care about you, even though we clearly cannot live together in conventional matrimony, but best wishes anyway" card...</p><p>There was a spinning rack of cards, cleverly positioned to be oh-so convenient to browse while standing in line as Belle was now. She let her gaze wander over them, as she was fourth in line behind Mrs. Beaufort and her squirmy little son, Mr. Tillman, and Dorothy. While she looked, she noticed one with a Disney version of Tinker Bell fluttering on the card with her wand out over a curly pink "Valentine's Wishes!" sentiment.</p><p>Poor Tink loathed her Disney counterpart: The scrap of a dress, the compounding of pixie and fairy traits, the bizarre crush on Peter Pan, and the willingness to rat Wendy out at the drop of a feathered pirate hat. There was...a lot to unpack there. Belle supposed she got off easy with Beauty and the Beast.</p><p>"Belle."</p><p>Except her father wasn't nearly so...affable.</p><p>"Papa." Belle turned around, clutching her shopping basket uneasily. He was carrying a bag of pork rinds and a two-liter bottle of diet Pepsi. Neither of which were particularly good for his health and she pursed her lips disapprovingly. Not that he noticed.</p><p>"Why didn't you call me back?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.</p><p>Belle held in a sigh, turning her back to him presumably to judge the line. Mrs. Beaufort was collecting her shopping bag and herding her toddler out the door, so she took a step forward. In reality, she was trying to wipe the frustration off her face.</p><p>"Papa. I'm not in the mood to talk about this right now, can you just leave it be?"</p><p>There was a crinkling noise, then Papa's freed hand was turning her back around, and he was wearing a stern look on his face. The heart-attack-in-a-bag was up underneath his arm.</p><p>"You're supposed to be monitoring your sodium." Belle said, half-hoping it would distract him. A fool's errand really. He was in the habit of microwaving frozen dinners and defending the choice as "healthy" because it had vegetables without referencing the sodium content on the nutrition label. There was some sort of pattern here but she was too focused on <em>keep calm</em> to piece it together.</p><p>"Belle. Just tell me you aren't getting involved."</p><p>"Involved?"</p><p>"Yes. <em>Involved</em>." Papa sighed. "I know you've a...a complicated past, with Gold. A connection. I know it's not as easy as just walking away from it all, but you have to look after yourself and the b-And Oliver, too."</p><p>Belle bit her lip. It was the use of her son's actual name that caught her off guard.</p><p>She studied his face carefully, looking for any sign he was holding something back. Something he hadn't revealed, some nasty rumor he'd heard. Maurice French was a hard-headed, obstinate soul who believed his way was the right way, end of discussion. Belle loved him as dutifully as any daughter had ever loved her father, but if her needs did not align with his wants, Papa was as supportive as a millstone around her neck.</p><p>Could it be, that just maybe, her father had listened to her and understood? That he was taking her emotions in to account, not just his hatred for Rumple?</p><p>He lightly squeezed her shoulder, the warmth of his hand seeping through her coat. His blue eyes softened, slightly. For just a moment longer, Belle felt safe and certain.</p><p>"You've got the mayor, and the Charmings, at your back though," Papa said then. "I know they'd help you get away. You can let him go, there's no need to keep fighting a losing battle to change a beast in to a man. There are people that can help you, if you're willing."</p><p>Belle was not disappointed. She was not heartbroken. She was not even sad. She was furious.</p><p>"Where the <em>hell</em> do you get off talking like that?" she snapped, only just setting her shopping basket down instead of slamming it to the floor. "I am not some stupid little victim cowering in the corner, waiting for someone to rescue me! I am a grown woman! I make my own choices, without your opinions!"</p><p>Whatever softness Papa had a moment ago vanished in a harsh scoff. "Oh? And how's that worked out for you so far? You live alone with the seed of the Dark One, a smug little brat who's nothing but trouble from what I hear-"</p><p>"Shut up!" Belle felt rage steaming from her ever pore, her body quivering with it, her eyes hot with it. "You just-Shut up! I have had enough of what you've heard, and what you think! You listen to me!"</p><p>"You listen to me, girl, keep your voice down!" he hissed.</p><p>He had a point. The people ahead of her in line, Dorothy Lucas-Gale and Mr. Tillman, were not-so-subtly watching and Sneezy's eyebrows were going to meet his hairline if they got any higher. Dorothy frowned, keeping her eyes on Papa. But Belle found that they could have been on top of a table in the middle of Granny's and she wouldn't have cared. She whirled back around on her father.</p><p>"When these," she jabbed a finger at the pork rinds, "put you back in the hospital, I will not be there to help you again. I am done."</p><p>"What does that mean? Is that supposed to be a threat?"</p><p>"No. It's a fact. I'm done. We have nothing more to say to each other. I will support my family, you can stop pretending you care about me or my son. Goodbye."</p><p>Dorothy backed up enough for Belle to slip by her, but stood firmly in place when Papa tried to follow. Something in Dorothy's dark eyes was very, very imposing when she sharpened her gaze to the fullest. Papa actually took a step back from his attempt at pursuit. And despite him chiding her for making a scene, that didn't stop him from bellowing: "Belle! Belle, stop! <em>Belle!</em>"</p><p>She spun around on her heel. Her face felt like it was burning, it was doubtlessly all sorts of red. She had not stopped for her father, though.</p><p>"I am sorry for the inconvenience, Sneezy, but I will be leaving my shopping basket in the middle of the aisle. Please forgive me."</p><p>"Um..." Sneezy cleared his throat. "You're fine."</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>Her governesses had all complained that she was too easily distracted, too impulsive, to display the cool aloofness that was deemed proper for a young noblewoman to display. Belle felt that, in her exit of the pharmacy, she'd proven them wrong. At least until she was vaguely aware of the tears spilling over her lashes.</p>
<hr/><p>Oliver hated crying because when he did, he usually gave himself a headache, and his eyes started stinging. He wasn't sure if it was the salt or the rubbing his eyes that made them sting though. He never really stopped to wonder because when he cried he usually had other things on his mind, not that he could explain why he'd started crying when he saw Papa.</p><p>But he did feel...less-bad, now. So that was something.</p><p>Papa had wrapped him in a fierce bear hug until he'd calmed down. Even now he hadn't let go, and that was fine. He didn't want him to just yet.</p><p>Neither of them had said anything for awhile now, they were just...there, and that seemed to be enough for the moment. Papa was here, Oliver was here...nothing was fixed yet, Oliver wasn't even sure what all was broken, but for right now it was enough. "What was that paper you wrote about?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"That assignment you turned in. I, uh, I was never really sure what it was about. Would you tell me about it?"</p><p>Oh. Wow. It felt like Oliver had written that stupid paper <em>years</em> ago. "It was-" his voice sounded hoarse, from the snot dripping down the back of his throat. Crying was disgusting, even if it made him feel less-bad. "It was about, um, royalty in the Enchanted Forest. I didn't think I did it right but Mrs. Nolan loved it."</p><p>"What made you think you'd done it wrong, then?"</p><p>Oliver shuffled back enough to look at Papa. His father wiped his cheeks with the cuff of his fine shirt, which almost sent Oliver sniffling again. "Um. Well Mrs. Nolan said to write, you know, about how a kingdom worked. Other kids were writing about, like, kings and queens and castles...I didn't. The only reason I turned in the paper was 'cause Aeronwy did something different, too."</p><p>Papa an eyebrow. "Miss du Lac? I can only imagine."</p><p>Aeronwy was kinda-friends with Oliver. She was at the library once a week at least and they liked to talk about books, and she had called Neal and Tommy <em>little</em> <em>troglodytes</em> in the first grade, so he would have a healthy respect for her regardless. Her parents were Sir Lancelot and Guinevere, who was a former queen who...probably did have very strong opinions about the abuse of kingly power. Come to think of it, she'd said she hadn't so much written about <em>kings</em> as she had <em>kingdoms</em>.</p><p>"She wrote about all the window-dressing Arthur used on people who hadn't been, uh, sand-blinded, to fool them in to thinking he had everything prospering. All the trade routes he had to come up with and the PR he had to do the first winter when he hadn't been prepared for the weather."</p><p>"Impressive. And what did you do?"</p><p>"I sort of...wrote how royalty only really benefited royalty." Oliver explained what he remembered writing, if not word-for-word, at least the sentiment of it. His parents weren't Mrs. Nolan, when Papa started to smile with pride he was just plain proud of the way Oliver wrote his thoughts down.</p><p>If Oliver had been in charge, he would have praised Aeronwy aloud. Identifying all the things you had to have in a kingdom in order to appease the smallfolk seemed like a better understanding of the system than Oliver just pointing out the flaws in it. It almost made him wonder if Mrs. Nolan felt he'd needed extra-special attention out of guilt, or some other kind of overcompensation.</p><p>Of course they'd gone back to the norm the next day with the Scarf Incident and all that followed...Papa didn't need to know that, though.</p><p>Henry came back then and sat on the edge of the bed, nibbling on a candy bar he'd gotten from somewhere. He was the Author, which Oliver understood to be a title that you received a very fancy pen with and were expected to write down stories that became the facts. Which seemed backwards, but Papa said magic was very rarely straight forward. All Oliver knew for sure was that because Henry spent a lot of time writing and reading and listening, he happily agreed that Oliver had made some points worthy of praise.</p><p>(Even if it had come from Mrs. Nolan.)</p><p>Henry then talked about some of the complaints he'd heard about King George's style of ruling. He'd inherited the throne in the middle of the Sixth Ogre War, which explained a bit of his shaky financial straits for years afterwards, (war was a costly thing, both his parents had cautioned,) and why he was, by all accounts, such a hard-ass. Unfortunately for him, his adoptive son had gotten run clean through, dead on the spot, right before he was supposed to slay some dragons for King Midas.</p><p>Oliver knew this story already: It was Sheriff Nolan's twin brother, so Papa collected the peasant brother from the countryside, cleaned him up, and sent him off to slay some dragons. It bled in to the story of Snow White and Prince Charming shortly after, and everyone and the trees knew that story front to back because Storybrooke wouldn't exist without glass coffins, poisoned apples, and vengeful queens.</p><p>And True Love's Kiss. So they said.</p><p>Papa and Henry were off and talking about how Jefferson wanted to know the best day to come and visit, a visit which would last as long as Papa's patience for visitors did. Which would probably be good for Papa, but didn't necessarily involve Oliver so he'd let his mind wander a bit.</p><p>Nothing was <em>fixed</em> yet. He knew that.</p><p>Papa was right, saying he was sorry didn't make it better. Much. But he had appointments with Archie and...he promised to try. They probably had more serious things to talk about, and Oliver wasn't sure why Papa wanted to know about his stupid paper. But he was absurdly happy to get the chance to talk about it with him. Maybe whatever had broken could be mended, with a little time.</p><p>Or a lot.</p><p>And probably a lot of <em>talking</em>, too.</p><p>Archie had said once if people could really read minds, he'd be out of a job. Oliver had taken that to mean that if more people were like Garrick, totally unafraid to talk about what they were thinking, (you know, without being a dick-weasel about it, <em>Neal</em>,) there would be less misunderstandings. People would just ask, <em>"What does that mean?"</em> or <em>"Why did you do that?"</em> and be done with it.</p><p>Assuming, you know, they got a straight answer afterwards.</p><p>Answers were tricky little beasts. Oliver knew there were plenty of ways to give them without revealing everything. This was where the mind-reading would have come in handy, probably, but it was almost the same thing if you knew the person who was telling only part of the truth. Opal for example. Oliver knew when she was avoiding something, she'd roll her eyes away and glare in a different direction rather than look you in the eye.</p><p>He'd told her that once. She huffed back that he curled his hands in to fists to try and keep them still. There were benefits to be had from being friends since you were babies, and there were hazards, like knowing when someone wasn't saying something. Or <em>was</em> thinking something.</p><p>Papa had a few tics of his own. When he was thinking something over, when he was trying to keep his temper. And then there was the one he was doing right now.</p><p>He and Henry kept talking about visitors, who else might come by and who was welcome as opposed to who was just snooping. It didn't count as a tic, Papa's hands were rarely still, and they kept tapping patterns on the plastic arm of his chair, smoothing over his pants leg, rubbing together, gesturing around. Normal stuff really. Except for how he kept reaching for the fourth finger on his left hand.</p><p>His ring finger. It was bare at the moment, which Oliver had never seen before. There was a sort of indentation where the thick gold band usually sat, a tan line too. Maybe Papa didn't realize the ring was missing, or maybe he'd taken it off when he was admitted, but he kept messing with his finger like it was there.</p><p>And he only ever did that when he was thinking about Mama.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please form a line over here to beat Moe with a stick, and please form a line here to distribute words of encouragement to the assorted members of the Gold family. Thank you for your time. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. In Which There Is Overthinking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good morning internet! This chapter was meant to have a Belle POV, but that got worked in to the next (unfinished) chapter for reasons. I have decided to give up a weekly schedule for now. This does mean however that when I get a chapter written, it gets posted ASAP, (but probably on a weekend because I just like posting on the weekends,) so let's call it a glass half full situation, yes?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I think I'm going to be friends with someone. But Neal doesn't like him."</p><p>Regina had to quickly learn how to read between the lines, and exercise a great deal of patience. Robbi had a way of waiting until all her words were in order before she said anything important. On the surface this wasn't an unusual way of doing things.</p><p>But to Robbi, important could mean anything from discussing how her therapy had went that day, to asking if it was okay to use the toaster.</p><p>So, Regina made a concentrated effort to listen without jumping to conclusions, giving Robbi time to get everything out in the open, so as not to force something to happen. At the same time, this didn't stop her from frowning down at the sizzling skillet of ground beef, over the information she did have right now.</p><p>"Him?"</p><p>"I talk to Garrick Booth sometimes. He's nice. Kind of weird, and he talks a lot, but I still think he's nice."</p><p>Robbi had waited until she'd grated all the cheese for the lasagna to start talking. She'd had a therapy session earlier in the afternoon, right after school, as scheduled for Mondays and Thursdays. She had mysteriously said it went fine, but she had "something to think about," which was probably this <em>thing</em> about Garrick Booth and Neal Nolan. Whatever it was.</p><p>"Neal doesn't think he's nice...or at least, he thinks he's annoying." Robbi explained, poking through the shredded cheese. "I don't know if it's because Garrick is friends with Oliver, and Neal <em>really</em> doesn't like Oliver, or if he thinks Garrick is just that annoying, but he's really kind of...mean. Neal is. To Garrick, I mean. And I guess his friend Opal doesn't really like me, either, but she's never mean about it."</p><p>"What's the difference between not liking you, and being mean about it?" Regina looked up from her skillet, trying to read Robbi's expression.</p><p>She was a hard nut to crack, Robbi Mills. She could look perfectly detached from something while also being unable to meet anyone's eyes, she rarely raised her voice above a soft, even tone. She wasn't a very good liar, but if she didn't want to talk, nothing could make her.</p><p>Regina didn't like to think about how many automatic self-defense mechanisms she had developed over the years, all because nobody had the nerve to intervene on her behalf. It was so much easier then to believe Robbi was just <em>shy</em>, not damaged by her mother's possessive, obsessive clutches. And didn't Regina just hate that she'd been the guiltiest one of all in not noticing how damaging it all was to a child, too busy trying to keep the mother contained?</p><p>
  <em>Focus.</em>
</p><p>"Well...it's sort of like...um...well," Robbi hummed. "Most of the time, Opal just ignores me. Or talks to me like I'm bothering her, sometimes, and maybe I am. But she doesn't call me names, or tell me to leave, or push me around. Neal will do that stuff to Garrick though, and it's just...really rude. And Garrick doesn't even have to do anything for it to happen, I just don't understand why Neal does it."</p><p>Neal Nolan had all the trademarks of a spoiled little prince. One who'd never been told he wasn't special, or indeed, a totally unexceptional 9-year-old boy. If Regina were the sort, she'd believe taking a switch to Neal's behind might do some good when he was caught acting like an ass. But the one thing she could say honestly about him was that he was a friend to Robbi.</p><p>Maybe not as good a friend as she considered him to be, but he was <em>a</em> friend.</p><p>This made a diplomatic response necessary. "That does seem...unnecessary."</p><p>"That's what Dr. Hopper said. I asked him about it today. He said I should talk to Neal about it. Since he has more friends than just me, there's no real reason I can't be friends with someone else. Only..."</p><p>Here, Robbi pushed the cheese plate away and tapped her finger against the kitchen island. She frowned at a swirl in the marble countertop.</p><p>"Only...see, I don't know what I'm supposed to do if Neal doesn't want to be my friend, if I'm friends with Garrick. What if he keeps being so mean, that Garrick doesn't want to me my friend anymore either, and then instead of maybe having two friends, or just one, I won't have any."</p><p>Regina considered the wisest response as she took the skillet off the hot burner and set it on a cool one. "What did Dr. Hopper suggest?"</p><p>"Oh. Um. Well...he said I should talk to Neal. And that if Neal is really my friend, he'll back off. And if he doesn't...um..." Robbi fidgeted again. "Well..."</p><p>It was rather obvious, even if Robbi didn't want to say it. If Neal couldn't be bothered to be courteous towards other people, he wasn't worth having as a friend. Archie probably had some reasonable, gentle-but-clear way of saying it. Regina didn't.</p><p>But she tried. "That sounds only fair to me. You don't always get along with Neal's friends, but you don't scare them off of him, do you?"</p><p>"No..."</p><p>"Then you <em>should</em> be allowed to have other friends. And you said it yourself, Garrick isn't being rude or hurtful to anyone. If you want to be friends with anyone, then there's no reason that you shouldn't be. If Neal doesn't like it, that's his problem, not your fault."</p><p>Robbi squirmed on her seat, watching her fingers fiddle together. "So...if I talk to Neal, and he doesn't like it...we can't be friends anymore?"</p><p>"Well...ah..." Only years of strict, regal training kept Regina from twiddling her own fingers together nervously. How to tell a girl that it was possible her self-described best friend might just be a bully weighing her down? "I think Dr. Hopper has the right idea, the only way to know for sure is to talk about it."</p><p>"I was afraid of that," Robbi sighed.</p>
<hr/><p>Emma got the text message while she was helping Cleo with her homework. Second grade math problems weren't the hardest things in the world, but Emma was dreading the day fractions and ratios came to the dining table. She still had a few fabricated memories of trying to work out long division with Henry during that lost year.</p><p>Henry, who the message had been from:</p><p>
  <strong>I'm taking Gold home now.</strong>
</p><p>Polite, to the point, perfunctory. A tidy update for someone who wasn't particularly close with the man...and just a little bit of a sting Emma tried to ignore.</p><p>Henry was probably still mad at her for what happened months ago. Somewhere deep down, in that little box everyone had for hurts inflicted by loved ones that everyone pretended didn't exist. Did these hurts get forgiven? Sure. But they <em>stayed</em>. Emma's was quite full even after realizing her Savior destiny several times over.</p><p>Although his adoptive mother surely had her own dedicated place in this hypothetical box, Emma always felt the hurts she caused to their son ran deeper. That wasn't even some twisted sense of ego talking, it was a kind of empathic common sense. Even skirting this misunderstanding lingering between them, there were always Emma's Dark One antics left unspoken.</p><p>That was truly the first time she'd betrayed Henry. Let him down. She wasn't sure to this day if she'd been forgiven or if it had all been swept away because of a greater need, and that unpleasant thought left her struggling now.</p><p>"Is it Daddy?"</p><p>"What?" Emma blinked at Cleo. Killian had the night shift today, he likely wouldn't be home until very, very late at night, but apparently that didn't stop their daughter from asking after him. "Oh. No, it was Henry. Mr. Gold just got sent home from the hospital, that's all."</p><p>Granny's Diner was the nerve center of Storybrooke gossip, but word got around the schools pretty fast too, as fast as that one cold was making the rounds. Cleo had only asked once if Mr. Gold was sick like some kids said, or dead like others had heard. That had been last night when she was being tucked in to bed.</p><p>It had been easier to say "sick, but getting better," than explain what suicide was to an almost-seven-year-old who still refused to go to sleep without her stuffed ladybug getting tucked in beside her.</p><p>"Should I make him a card?" Cleo snapped Emma out of her thoughts again. "Like I did for Mr. Briars?"</p><p>Months ago, at the stables, Prince Phillip's foot had been stepped on by a careless equine. He'd needed a cast and had to stay off his feet for weeks. Cleo had made him a card because he was her friend Stephanie's father, and Cleo was very particular about who she gave her construction paper cards to. It had been appropriate for Phillip, but it might be a little too forward for Gold.</p><p>On the other hand, and god didn't she feel pathetic for it, it did give her an opening to ask Henry if he needed anything...</p>
<hr/><p>It was easy to prioritize things yesterday.</p><p>Leave hospital. Drop Oliver off. Promise to see him tomorrow. Go back to his pink monstrosity of a house. Wait a moment for Henry to clear the ice off the steps, so he could climb the porch without slipping.</p><p>From there, it was go inside. Wash off that <em>hospital feel</em>. Put on clean clothes. Put will back in safe. (Henry hadn't had the chance to put it back.) Eat dinner, which was comprised of easily assembled sandwiches. Go to bed. Sleep without beeps, monitors, or nurses poking their heads in randomly through the night.</p><p>It had all been simple, easy steps. And by some twist of fate, Rumpelstiltskin slept very well. But with a new day came new challenges.</p><p>Henry said Regina would be coming by, bearing lasagna, at some point. Oliver would come over at a different point, he'd said something about knitting yesterday but hadn't actually specified what about it had caught his fancy. Jefferson would invade the house sooner or later with good intentions and tea. There was an appointment with Dr. Hopper on Monday to try not to overthink about.</p><p>And most unexpectedly, he had to make a decision about what to do with his wedding ring.</p><p>Originally it had just been <em>a</em> ring. It was made of, naturally, gold, with a large moonstone. Mr. Gold had worn it on the fourth finger of his right hand, as habitually as tailored suits and pocket squares, as often as Ruby had worn red lipstick and Dr. Hopper carried an umbrella. It was no more than an accessory.</p><p>He'd switched it to his left hand when they married. Belle was rather fond of it, it was lovely and suited him well. So she'd said. He wasn't sure how it suited him exactly, but it was easy enough to switch it to his other hand.</p><p>Even after he'd been banished, he'd pawned his cufflinks without hesitation but didn't even consider the ring. Why had he continued to wear it long after Belle had removed hers? That should have been some sort of sign. She could have flung her wedding ring in to the harbor for all he knew...though he doubted that specifically had happened.</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin sighed, weighing the ring in his palm. The low lights in his bedroom made the metal gleam and the stone glow. As if it really were a drop of moonlight.</p><p>Why <em>did</em> he keep wearing it? An unspoken hope, out of stubbornness? Denial?</p><p>Dr. Hopper had never asked why he wore the thing, so it was entirely possible, Rumpelstiltskin reasoned, that he was just standing here making up theories about an inanimate object. And he'd had it since before Belle came back in to his life, it didn't have to <em>mean</em> anything other than a bit of ornamentation to his hands.</p><p>So he put it back on.</p><p>It didn't have to mean anything. It was just a ring.</p><p>Yesterday, Henry had made the executive decision to keep the shop closed until Monday. Even if it were the weekend, business was slow until around mid-March and everyone had shaken off their holiday shopping hangovers. And if someone was trying to hurry up and pawn their watch to pay the bills, that sounded like a personal problem to Rumpelstiltskin.</p><p>Henry could probably use some time to recover from the whole mess himself. There was really no use in pretending <em>not</em> to feel a bit guilty, because for the rest of his life Rumpelstiltskin was going to eat meals at a table where he'd intended to kill himself, the same table Henry was sitting at with a bowl of cereal while scrolling through his phone. It was one of the things Dr. Hopper was going to have him work on, he was sure.</p><p>But perhaps he should invest in some new furniture...</p><p>Rumpelstiltskin sat down with his own breakfast, and the newspaper. Neither of them mentioned the empty chair he'd sat in that day, they were each absorbed in their own tasks after a brief <em>good morning, how are you, fine</em>. Then Henry sighed and set his phone down.</p><p>"Is there a gentle way to tell my mother I appreciate her concern, but I can't handle her drama right now?"</p><p>"Which mother is it?"</p><p>"Emma." Henry poked around in his cereal. It was the one with brightly colored marshmallow shapes, which made vibrant pops of color in an otherwise dull bowl. "She probably means well, but I don't see how she <em>can </em>help me. At least not without bailing when I might actually need her."</p><p>A vicious part of Rumpelstiltskin found it amusing to watch Emma flounder after driving her son away, only Henry's big heart keeping her as close as an arm's length away. There was a sweet sort of irony to the noble Savior suffering with no one to blame but herself. Another part of him was uncomfortably...sympathetic.</p><p>"What help she offering?" he asked.</p><p>"Right now? To see if I need anything. Cleo's making you a get-well card,-that's a pretty high honor by the way,-so she wants to meet somewhere so I can pick it up. She didn't think you'd appreciate her hanging out on your doorstep."</p><p>Not untrue. Rumpelstiltskin hummed in to his tea.</p><p>It was hell to lose your child by breaking their heart. Emma had the luxury of not needing multiple curses and several centuries to find her son to make amends for that betrayal. She just didn't seem to appreciate that fact. The efforts she had made, those which Rumpelstiltskin was aware of, were rather frail ones. So far Emma's strategy seemed to consist of skirting issues in the hopes they'd fade away. It was not working.</p><p>Henry peeked at his phone again, but rather than texting he only checked the time. "Oliver's going to be here in an hour or so," he announced, and if he'd been aiming to change the subject, he'd succeeded. "Belle's going to drop him off. It looks like it might snow this afternoon so I'll drive him home before it gets bad."</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Belle was going to drop their son off.</p><p>Up until that moment, even if he'd subconsciously thought of her in connection to his wedding ring, Rumpelstiltskin hadn't really thought too much about how seeing Belle for the first time would...well. What was going to happen?</p><p>Would she stay long? Would she want to talk? Was she upset he wouldn't see her at the hospital, was she just upset with him in general? Once again, she had a right to be, but Rumpelstiltskin hadn't gone behind her back to acquire more dark power this time. He'd made an ultimately aborted attempt to kill himself, at this table he was seriously considering replacing, and one of the consequences of that was having to face his estranged wife afterwards.</p><p>Unless...he didn't actually see her. He could easily stay out of sight, let Henry answer the door and pretend to be busy upstairs. Or he could take three deep breaths and get it over with like a functional adult.</p><p>He ignored the snide little voice that said if he were a functional adult, he wouldn't be struggling with this in the first place.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Spoiler that is not a spoiler: The Belle POV opens the next chapter. That much I have written down, so it might not be all that long before the next update after all...maybe.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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